Bowslingers
by Ophelion
Summary: A legend of a journey through the eyes of a young mercenary Rogue, with an Amazon, and a few others on the way. ::Ch 37: Worlds Apart - From one world to another, we take something with us, and leave something behind.::
1. Prologue: I, Rogue

I was previously known as ReviewerAnonymous, but since I write now I guess I can't stay as a "reviewer"...

This is my first fic... please review!! Constructive comments will be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing apart from the storyline. This is based on a character I had so I guess the characterisation as well… Blizzard owns the rest.

**Prologue**

Rogue. For as long as I can remember, that was my identity. A group of women- warriors, members of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. Our mastery of theft, traps and the bow defines our place in the Sanctuary.

When Diablo rose a few years ago, many of my Rogue sisters went to battle. I was too young, and could only watch on, as one by one, they went; and one by one, they perished.

Until one day, when Diablo was defeated. A Rogue, a Warrior and a Sorcerer were the heroes that saved out world, bring it back to life, revived it from its chaotic state.

The Sanctuary rejoiced in its rebirth, celebrating the end of chaos and corruption.

If only they were right.

The three heroes disappeared out of sight after a short period of time; and accompanying their disappearance was the reappearance of chaos - rumour had it, that Diablo was revived, along with his brothers, Mephisto and Baal. The Warrior whom had used his body as a limiting device for Diablo's power was not strong enough, and he was overtaken. The other two heroes have also fallen. Apparently there was an insane mage in the deserts claiming to have defeated Diablo, and is now corrupted.

And our fellow Rogue sister, according to Kashya, our Mercenary Captain, has fallen as the dead-raising Blood Raven, using the bodies of our dead sisters as her weapons, corrupting our Sisterhood.

The Sisterhood had retreated into a small encampment on a plain, powerless against the present powers of Diablo and his brothers. There were many travellers passing our way, heading towards the goal of defeating the three Prime Evils. The best we could do to help was to aid them as mercenaries.

Being a mercenary myself, I have mastered the skills of the bow, as well as magic - Inner Sight and Ice Arrows. Some of my friends opt for Fire Arrows, but I prefer the silence of chill.

However, as well as we were trained, we have proved to be the choice of mercenary of only a few. Many of my sisters have been sent back from the deserts of Lut Gholein, the tropics of Kurast, or even the snow-capped mountains of Harrogath, being replaced by other mercenaries. None have returned victorious.

Rogues were dying out; we were not strong enough this time. Many types of warriors have passed us, including the strong Barbarian, the holy Paladin, the mysterious Necromancer, the magical Sorceress (whom our healer, Akara, always greeted warmly), the stealthy Assassin, and the Wild Druid. But the group that most intrigue the Sisterhood and I, are the independent, headstrong Amazons.

Us Rogues have developed a kind of hostility towards the Amazons that pass, though I suppose it was out of jealousy; the Amazons could wield the bow as good as if not better than we can, but in addition, they had also mastered the javelin and spear, and had a connection with the divine, allowing them to surpass us in the use of magic. They were also stronger and tougher, highly independent and fearless.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a Rogue. An unhappy Rogue, because of the deaths around me, and more so, the inability to help. I felt too dependent on others, too powerless. It was my wish to accompany an Amazon on a journey, learning her skills, learning to be strong.

But the Amazons were also the group of warriors whom was most likely to dismiss their Rogues. I can understand; why would you have a mercenary whose skills you already possess?

That was why, when Kashya informed the mercenaries that an Amazon had defeated Blood Raven, and that one of us would have to accompany her as a mercenary, she did not sound too pleased or excited, nor did anyone else.

Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I followed the rest of my Rogue Sisters to line up at the training grounds, waiting for another warrior to come and inspect us, and then pick one of us for the sake of free mercenary service.


	2. Chapter 1: Newcomer

Here's the second chapter…

Thank you sooooooo much for Dromiceius to offer his kind and VERY useful comments. Hee hee, at least I pass…

As I replied to Dromiceius, the reason why that prologue was boring was because: one, it was a prologue told from an unexperienced and BORING Rogue; second, because I'm a noob:-P (In fic writing, not gaming); thirdly, because I'm a sucker for long introductions that gradually builds atmosphere.

I hope that accounts for the bad-ness of the first chapter a little. But I guess the best amends I can make is to write better chapters.

Soooooo… I own nothing but the characters and the storyline. Blizzard does it so much better and deserve the credits.

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**Chapter 1**

"So these are the kind of people who guards this place…" An unfamiliar voice, a low, yet clear one, rang into my ears. "Pardon me, but you're short on both numbers and power."

"Many of us have perished, both back at the Monastery and thereafter." Kashya replied, sounding as if she were annoyed but would not dare show it. "Since you've helped us, your journey hereafter will get progressively difficult. We hope one of our Rogues will be of assistance."

I looked up as Kashya and the newcomer came into view, previously obstructed by a nearby tent.

Kashya looked like she had been slapped in the face; I could tell from this distance that she was trying her best to swallow her pride. They walked up close to us line-up, and stopped.

"Rogues," said the newcomer, removing her helm. "That doesn't seem like a suitable name, for some reason…"

She was unlike any Amazon I had seen before; I had expected a slim woman with sleek blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, with piercing blue eyes and a cocky yet reassuring smile. But this one… she was a little shorter than most of her kind, but more strongly-built, and from her slumped posture, one could sense her nonchalance. It was her face; however, that was the most unusual. Rather than sunny-blonde hair, her hair was of a silvery-champagne, twisted into a long plait falling past her waist, with bangs falling over either side of her face, and a few over her eyes. Her eyes… she swept them across our line-up, and stopped at me. Her orbs were… hazel? I could not tell from such distance.

"That little one over there," she beckoned at me; "Come over here."

After glancing towards either side of me, I walked over slowly. As I did the Amazon twirled the spear she held in her hand, and tucked it neatly beneath a sash across her back. She had a bow slung over her shoulder, too.

"How old are you?" Now I saw them; her eyes were bright emerald green at the top, and gradually faded into a deep brown at the bottom. It made her look… unreal.

"I turn seventeen in two months."

"She's the youngest here;" said Kashya, "with the least experience. I'm sure it'll be of greater help if you take one of our older-"

"I'll take this one." The Amazon cut her short.

"But she's not ready-"

"I'll _make _her ready." The Amazon interrupted Kashya's speech yet again. "Your name?" Her eyes never left me since she picked me out from the line-up.

"Celadon."

"You sure are green." The Amazon brushed the bangs off her face in vain; they soon fell back to their original place. "I probably don't need a mercenary, but since you're all so kind, I'll take this girl. For the sake of this Sisterhood, you guys really need someone stronger." She whipped around. "Come on, Celadon, we have some old man to rescue. Let's just get this over and done with so we can keep moving."

And just like that, she walked off, without a care for anything else, not even asking for a demonstration of our skills as previous warriors had. All this was very… _anticlimactic_. Clueless as to how much my life would change from that point on, I hurried to follow the steps of my new master.

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So that was the second chapter. I'm crossing between writing a story with a lot of dialogue, and very detailed action, and a story of the Rogue's inner experience. The latter would be shorter because I'll be skimming over all the details in the quests and just focus on the thoughts of the Rogue.

So please tell me which one it will be: the action-filled adventure, or the interior monologue of the Rogue.

And by the way, when the Amazon said that Celadon was "green", it was a pun; "celadon" _is_ actually a kind of pale green, and is a kind of Chinese pottery with a rich green glaze… I'm a sucker at colour shades. It's a little strange obsession of mine.


	3. Chapter 1 and a half: I, Amazon

Should I also mention that I'm a sucker for short chapters? I know it's frustrating for some people. I love the book "Holes" (Louis Sachar) and it's the short chapters that get me. So please be tolerant.

I thought the Amazon should give her own little account too. This is going to be VERY short as I don't want to spoil the Rogue's discovery of her master. So bear with me.

I _do_ already have an ending in mind, so I know where I'm going. It's an annoying trait: I always write snippets of things and tie them all together at the end.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but Celadon, _this_ Amazon, and the plot blah blah blah… Blizzard owns the rest. I think we all got it.

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**Chapter 1.5**

This is almost shameful. Insulting. Yet nonetheless it's pitiful, and it's also amusing.

So out of all the ways I can respond to this, I laughed.

These battered young women are our rivalry in archery? They have no more spirit in them. My people have the more headstrong, independent, fearless character…

But then, maybe that's why they keep going to their deaths. Perhaps these Rogues' wits give them such reputation – the rivals of the Amazons.

That woman just tossed me a dirty glare… what was her name again? Kashya. That's right. The Mercenary Captain. The Captain of the Rogues that get sold as mercs for a bit of money and less mouths to feed.

I guess I'm in no place to judge. They're pretty messed up. I'm surprised that they even manage to stay together as a… _Sisterhood_. That's what they call themselves. Unlike my people; we're a tribe. It sounds so much more wild and barbaric, and I guess some of my people only added to that reputation.

I guess that's why I didn't fit in.

When other girls trained with bows and javelins and spears, when they were climbing trees and chasing animals to practice their physical strength, I turned to magic, the divine connection, and the disciplining of my mind.

Rumour has it that my father was a necromancer. That works.

I don't remember my mother, but from what I could tell from my sister, she was probably a typical Amazon. Yeah, that would explain the physical strength and marksmanship of my sister. She was always a favourite of the elders. She had the skills, the power and the will of an Amazonian warrior.

When Diablo rose again, my headstrong sister didn't hesistate to go and save the world, and the elders didn't hesitate in letting her go, either.

If it wasn't for that… if I'd stopped her, I wouldn't be here right now.

I was her older sister. I was meant to take care of her, protect her…

Now I'm here. What am I expecting? It's not like I can save her now. What am I doing here?

To escape the guilt, of course. To run away from that sorrowful place, to flee from accusing eyes.

I'm doing this to save myself. I'm such a selfish bastard.

Perhaps if I succeed, I'll feel better because I've done something for others. I'll feel better because people will speak of the Amazon who restored order upon the Sanctuary, and her motivation, that which fuelled her – her brave sister who perished before her.

Looking at these Rogues, I know I can do nothing for them. They've been beaten. But they offered me a merc, and if I've earned their respect, even as one of their rival Amazons, then maybe I shouldn't throw it away.

Whatever. Doesn't bother me. A little hireling tagging along doesn't hurt. Being a Rogue, at least they never get in the way, since they have their long-ranged attacks.

Now they're all lined-up in front of me. I'm tempted to just close my eyes and point at someone randomly.

I got ready to do exactly just that, when one of them caught my eye.

The small one in between two taller ones. She's gawking at me like I've got Blood Raven's head next to my own. Her posture tells me she's just trying to hideaway, but why the hell is she still gawking then? Strange child.

Wait, a thought just came into my head. That's it… maybe I _can_ do something good after all.

I told her to come up to me. She has short, deep reddish-brown hair that doesn't even reach her shoulders. Her honey-golden eyes looked up at me… damn, she's little. About half a head shorter than me, and she's not standing upright… this kid's nervous. As boring as this is to me, she probably hasn't had anything more exciting happened to her.

"How old are you?" I'm guessing… mid-teens.

"I turn seventeen in two months." Close enough.

"She's the youngest here;" Kashya cut in quickly. She's such a mother hen; nags all the time and _so_ protective of the Rogue's reputation. She'll never let an Amazon like me look down on them. "With the least experience. I'm sure it'll be of greater help if you take one of our older-"

There she goes, nagging again. I don't have the patience for this. "I'll take this one."

"But she's not ready…" She is _such_ a mother hen!

"I'll _make _her ready." Jeez, by the name of Tyrael… for once I'm trying to do something good, and I'm regretting even having the _thought_ of it now, if she keeps going on. Now, the kid… "Your name?"

"Celadon." Damn, is her voice quivering?

"You sure are green." Great, now I'm agreeing with the mother hen. "I probably don't need a mercenary, but since you're all so kind, I'll take this girl. For the sake of this Sisterhood, you guys really need someone stronger."

Yes, that's my plan. They need the stronger ones here to defend their remaining bit of territory. I'll take this kid and hopefully make her less wimpy and stronger. Who knows, I might even keep her for good if she turns out better than I can make out now. If I defeat Andariel with her, the Rogues can reclaim the Monastery and their morale will be higher, saving me from looking at a bunch of people moping around.

That is, _if _I can defeat Andariel. No matter; either way works. If I die, I can escape the guilt forever. If I survive, well… I'll just keep going until I can escape the guilt one way or another. Now… to Tristram to rescue some old man named Cain… great, this just keeps getting better and better.

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Hopefully this chapter characterises the Amazon a bit better.

Yes, I know. The Rogue spoke in formal past tense while the Amazon spoke in colloquial present tense. That's because the Rogue is recounting the story from the end, but here the Amazon is speaking on the spot. Think the Rogue is writing a journal and the Amazon playing this through in her head. Yeah? Got it? I hope so.


	4. Chapter 2: Battle's Initiation

I don't know how many people actually are reading this, but PLEASE review…

In the coming chapters, the storyline begins. You might find that there are inaccuracies, conflictions with the original plot, big time elapses etc etc… regarding those I have two things to say:

One: I haven't played Diablo 2 Exp for a loooooooooooooooooong time. Really.

Two: I don't care if it's not accurate to the game; this is MY story, not Blizzards. I own nothing but the plot details and the two characters. So with what I have, I'm making the most out of them.

I write this for the people who would like it. If you don't like it this way, That's fine with me. Don't waste your time reading it and wasting both our energy dealing with disappointments and distresses.

So… here's chapter two… bear with me.

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**Chapter 2**

We went to rescue Deckard Cain on a rainy day. The cold and damp air seemed to have soaked into my skin, rendering my body lethargic.

The day before after the Amazon selected me as a mercenary, she told me to remain in camp while she went somewhere through the waypoint to carry out some "errands". She returned slightly battered but fine, and silently tossed me a skull cap, and light armour, gloves, boots and sash, all made of leather. I have seen some of my sisters bring back something better, but they were still the best that I have worn. I looked up at the Amazon questioningly.

"Look, don't die on me here; I can't stand accusatory looks from people." I started trying the armour on. "We're not going now." She said. Before I could ask she continued. "You have a good rest today, have your bow restrung, and make sure yourself and all you stuff are in good condition. Tomorrow morning, we leave for Cain. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, she exited my tent.

She was going to be a hard master to please. And the following morning justified this hypothesis. It was still dark when she came to my tent; I got ready for her calls for me to get out of bed.

"We leave in ten minutes. I'll see you at the waypoint." That was all that she said.

On our way to the Stony Fields, the Amazon – yes, I still had not found out her name – had stood back when monsters approached, leaving me to take care of most of them. They were not much of a problem, but when we approached the five giant stone pillars, I froze.

Carvers, so many of them. Amongst them was Rakanishu, glowing green with power. I was about to consult my master when, within a split second, she unslung her bow from her shoulder, a bow much heavier and sturdier than mine, and began firing quickly at the surrounding carvers, at such a rate that seemed inhuman to me.

"Celadon, Inner Sight!" I did as she told me. "Just stand here and keep firing." She ordered.

For a split second my instincts commanded me to call her back, to fight beside her; but for some reason, perhaps curiosity or cowardice, I allowed her to overtake me.

With a swift twist of her left wist, she slung the bow back over her shoulder. Rakanishu released bolts of Lightning toward her. I was about to cry out when my master kicked the base of the long spear slung across her back with her left foot. The spear flew into the air as the Amazon followed its rising path, evading the attacks with extravagant gracefulness.

She caught the spear in midair, and charged it with lightning that ripped through the long spear, in turn forming an aura over both my master and her weapon. As a single unit, the weapon hit Rakanishu's head from straight above; as the weapon travelled straight down through its victim, the violent lightning blew the body apart. All that remained was a mass of burnt flesh, sizzling and fillng the air with a pungent stench of barbequed-carver meat.

"Celadon!" She yelled. I snapped back to reality, having not noticed when I had stopped firing. Evidently, the remaining monsters were as shock by the woman-warrior as I was. I took the advantage to take down a few carvers, while my master did not halt for a single moment, as she swung her spear around her, annihilating more carvers as they closed in on her.

Within another minute or so, my master and I were surrounded by the bodies of the fallen, which looked someone incongruous scattered around the five sacred stone pillars. The rain diluted the blood, and the ground soaked up the essence of corrupted lives.

My master seemed unscathed, but she was covered in the dark blood of her victims. The violet-crimson was dull against her silvery hair, and the green of her eyes shone.

I had never fought and killed this many in such a short time before; but what shocked me the most was the way _she_ fought. I had never seen anyone fight like that, especially one who possessed such skill with the bow. Rogues had always been known for their ability to stay calm in battle, to be able to attack their victims from afar, and murdering with elegance. To think that an Amazon was similar to the Rogues, was a huge misconception.

At least for _this_ Amazon.

I did not know what I could call her at that stage: fearless, or suicidal.

"Right, this way, Celadon." She said as she began to walk off, away from the stone pillars. I tried to look into the distance, but the rain obscured my vision.

"What about these pillars?" I asked, catching up with the Amazon. Her face was as stern and collected as ever, betraying no change in emotions.

"We go underground, and out the other side, where we'll find a tree. Apparently there's some stuff written there that Akara can help us with. After that, we go and get Cain."

"So…" I was really struggling to understand the way my new master went about these quests. "Why did we clear out Rakanishu's lot this soon?"

The Amazon did not even pause a second before answering me. "Do you really want to be clearing out Rakanishu's lot _and _whatever's waiting in Tristram?" She seemed very sure of what she was doing. I did not question her decision.

We quite easily passed the underground passage to the dark woods; being two bow-wilders with Inner Sight ensured that dark places were no threat to us. When we to the Dark Wood, however, the sight shocked me, and to this day, it remained as one of the most challenging battles in my life.

My Rogue sisters, armed with various weapons, came up to attack us.

"They won't be a problem to you, Celadon. We've got a lot of distance." My master stated calmly, seemingly unaware, or ignorant of my shock. "You can take care of them."

"I… can't…" I replied shakily. "They were once my friends, my sisters…"

"Celadon, they have been overtaken by corruption. Rid them of their undead lives." She said calmly, unwaveringly. If Amazons were supposed to empathise with Rogues when it comes to this kind of things, this Amazon was different.

"Don't make me…" Tears began to well up in my eyes. "I really can't…"

"They are _not_ your friends and sisters anymore!" She suddenly raised her voice. I looked up; her face was unchanged, her tone was the same, but her voice was solid, sure, and there was no convincing her otherwise. "Do it!"

With a sob, I nocked an arrow, and fired it blindly. I had hoped that it would miss, but the woods were so crowded with them. My arrow pierced two in the chest.

With a cry, their spirits left their bodies. I could have sworn that they both smiled faintly before they hit the ground, dead.

My eyes snapped wide open, and I screamed, as I fired arrow after arrow. At one point I got so agitated I charge an arrow with ice, and shattered a few corpses of my once-fellow Rogues.

My corrupted sisters gathered in crowds, and so the two of us moved forward, taking down tens of corrupted Rogues at a time.

By the time the battle calls ceased, I was standing amongst a field of Rogues' bodies. I looked at the Amazon, and realised that she had not fired a single arrow since we had entered the Dark Wood. Then my attention shifted to my own body – I felt stronger, in body and mind, despite my thoughts running wild in my head.

"Here's the inscription." The Amazon ripped down a large piece of bark from an old, leaf-less tree. "Let's head back."

We returned to the encampment via a waypoint. As my master consulted Akara about the bark, I payed my fellow mercenaries a visit.

I told my friends about my experience with putting our sisters to rest. They all expressed much grief, and relief at such news. Kashya, however, seemed annoyed at the fact that my master made me take down the entire force of the enemy, putting me through such "mental torment". I told her about Rakanishu; she did not comment.

"Hey Celadon," my master peered into the tent that I was sitting in. Kashya stood up to leave, throwing a filthy look at the Amazon as she passed her. The Amazon shrugged it off. "I'm heading to Tristram. I should be able to take care of things, if you're tired from before…"

"No." I stood up and checked my quiver. "I'm ready. I'm going with you." I was getting stronger. If this was the price of power and my Sisterhood's safety, it was a fair deal. As heartless as my master seemed then, she was making me a worthy warrior. I reminded myself of my dream of accompanying an Amazon as a mercenary, and found the motivation to reassume killing. Whether it was corrupted Rogues or Diablo, if my master was going to fight it, I was not going to be left behind.

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I was going to incorporate the rescue of Cain in this chapter, but it seems the right place to end it.

I was running out of inspiration, but I've got it back now. I guess I'll be skipping the details of Tristram, since, to me, it wasn't the most exciting part of the game. And I hate the way Cain talks.

Please read and review! I do hope I'm improving. Celadon still hasn't found out the name of the Amazon. I'll find the right time to put it in later, since I haven't exactly thought of a good name for her yet… I will. I promise.


	5. Chapter 3: Revisiting Tristram

As suggested by Dromiceius, I'm naming the chapters… eh, it's fun!

Please excuse me if you like Cain, because my annoyance at him might somehow manifest itself in this story… hmm.

I'm going onto a 6-day trip, to celebrate the finishing of High School! So I won't be updating during this period. However, it's to the country with my good friend and best friend, so I might get some decent inspiration… the inspiration of the last chapter came from ice crackling in Ribena; reminded me of bones shattering in a pool of blood, somehow… So damn hot yesterday.

Anyways, enough rambling. Onwards!

**Disclaimer: **I own this Amazon, Celadon, a bit of characterisation and the story. That's all. Blizzard owns everything else.

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**Chapter 3: Revisiting Tristram**

Tristram was nothing as I have remembered, and everything plus more than I have imagined it to be now.

The first thing I noticed was the smell, the toxic fumes of smoke, blood, sweat, carrion and poison combined. Tristram burned with an unceasing fire, its once-majestic building burnt to charcoal-like ruins; once-green earth is now charred and littered with mangled corpses. This town, Tristram had become reminiscent of hell. I tried my best to hold my tears back. The stench of death was so thick, it was almost as if the air could kill.

But I had to focus on what really killed. I looked around and saw many Shamans and their minions. I brought an arrow to my bow and took them down one by one. I felt a lot stronger now, and killing seemed to have come more natural to me. It was amazing how much the Amazon had already done to me; it had only been a day and she had already changed me.

"You're doing good, Celadon." Said my master. "Now, you take care of these little ones while I take Griswold down."

I was shocked; Griswold, the blacksmith of Tristram?

"You stay right back." The Amazon ordered. Unslinging her bow, she aimed at the advancing corrupted blacksmith, and after a few seconds, as if taking her time to focus, she let fly an Ice Arrow.

I then understood why she took her time, because, despite being chilled slightly, Griswold grew enraged, and sped up towards us. My master stood her ground, placing herself directly in between Griswold and me, and fired several Ice Arrows in a row. Griswold slowed down even further, yet he was more infuriated than ever. Within the small hallows of his eyes, anger shone as blood-red sparks.

He must have smelt my fear, for he overcame his frozen state in an instant and ran straight for us, his eyes boring into mine. I looked away and uttered a moan.

Then I heard his growl; I looked up, and saw my Amazonian master sank her spear into his tough chest again. She charged her spear, at the same time, shouted at me, "Celadon! What are you doing? Fire your Ice Arrows at him _now_!" She jabbed at him again. Griswold flung a fist at her, and with unbelievable grace and agility, the Amazon dodged it, leaning backwards just in time. I was shocked, but quickly regained my concentration and did as she told me, taking care not to hit her in the process.

My master jabbed at Griswold furiously, while trying her best to avoid the blows he delivered. She was trying to retreat, but Griswold was too fast. His fist finally caught her in the stomach, his other fist followed, smashing her into the ground. She coughed up a mouthful of blood, and, her face finally taking on some expression, she looked slightly enraged as she spat onto the ground. She got up quickly, wincing softly, but never stopped attacking.

Her will affected me, as I overcame my fears. I cast Inner Sight and fired Ice Arrow after Ice Arrow, straining my threshold of spiritual energy. My master charged her spear with lightning, and jabbed it straight through Griswold's head.

As soon as Griswold stopped, so did the charge on the spear. My master and Griswold hit the ground together.

"Help!" I heard an old man's voice. I reached into my sash and pulled out the blue potion my master had left inside it when she gave me the sash. Draining the tiny bottle, I cast Inner Sight again, and sensed nothing but the fading energy of my master, and a weak, familiar one. _Deckard Cain_.

"Cain!" I called out. "I'll come for you in a moment!" I reached inside my sash again, and found two tiny bottles of red potions. I held my master's head and she stirred; I poured the potion into her mouth. She swallowed and opened her eyes. I breathed out in relief.

"Thank you." She said.

"No, you wouldn't have had to go up to him if I hadn't… if I… " Shameful for my weakness, I could not continue. My sister had told me that no-one should ever take on Griswold close-range. She would not have done that if I had not cowered and had kept up my attacks.

"Don't worry about it. He's finished." She sat up, wincing in the process. Those potions probably had not been enough. "Where's Cain?"

"I'm here." Cain said from around the corner. "I've been calling –"

"Well, excuse us, but we couldn't hear you with all these monsters war-crying." She stood up, using her spear as support. We walked up to where Cain was imprisoned, suspended in a cage held up by a pulley system.

"Get me out of here!" Cain cried.

"Yes sir," my master replied breathlessly. With a swing of her spear, she cut the rope on the pulley system. Cain came crashing down, and the cage broke apart as it landed. Cain shakily stood up. "Why… thank you." He eyed the Amazon.

My master took a scroll out from her backpack, fastened by a blue ribbon, and read out the incantations. A blue portal appeared. "Deckard Cain, go to the Rogue Encampment immediately!" Cain walked up to the portal, and then looked back. My master sighed impatiently. "Do you really need to be around while we go around and loot stuff?" Cain shook his head with a smile, thanked us again, and stepped through the portal, which disappeared after him.

Despite my master not being of full health, she went around Tristram, searching the corpses and taking what she deemed useful. She found me a better bow, and swapped her armour for a better one, before handing her old armour to me. We also found a large sum of money from a body which was recognisably Wirt's. So the rumour about him being a little thief was true.

I felt a little stronger yet again, yet neither of us felt us walking any further. So we opened another town portal, and returned to the Rogue Encampment.

My master went straight to Akara for healing, while I took our weapons and armour to Charsi for repairs. She was pleased about what we were able to do, and asked that if we ever got as far as the Monastery and come across the Horadric Malus, to retrieve it for her, since she had left it when she fled. I half-agreed, wondering if we would ever make it that far, back to the place which once marked the triumph and glory of the Rogues.

I met up with my master, who looked a lot more alive now, and went onto meeting Deckard Cain. "So… may I have the privilege of knowing the names of my rescuers?" He asked.

"I'm Celadon, a Rogue mercenary, as you can tell." I then nodded at my master. "And this is…" I stopped. I _still_ did not know her name, which was quite a surprise, both to myself and Cain.

"Oread." She finally introduced herself, running her hand back, brushing her bangs off her face. "Of the Amazons."

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Oread is a kind of mountain-nymph in Greek mythology, pronounced "ORE-ree-ahd".

I'm assuming that Oread's level at this stage is between 6 and 12.

I know there is more than one person reading this. PLEASE REVIEW! I can't improve if you don't give me feedback.


	6. Chapter 4: Fearful Fulfilment

I'm back from the trip, and hopefully will have more patience to pick through my work before I publish them. That's a hard thing for me, writing and publishing continually, instead of finishing a whole piece and fix things all over the place as I go. Well, it's a challenge, then.

Hits are going up and up and up!! Thank you all! I do hope to see more reviews… thank you-s to Dromiceius and PhilipFreeman.

**Disclaimer: **I own Celadon, Oread, Cain's additional annoyance and the details in the story. Blizzard owns the rest, including Diablo III when it comes out!! Hurry up!

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**Chapter 4: Fearful Fulfilment**

Oread took a few days to rest and fully recover before we set out again. I grew tired of my sisters' inquiries regarding my journeys; and so for most of these days, I sat by myself, pondering, reflecting, remembering the short period of time that had passed, and transformed me into a new person.

It had only been a day, a single day, yet it felt so much longer than that. Within a day, I massacred, slaughtered, and murdered _hundreds_. Lives of the corrupted, but lives nonetheless. I have never felt so ready for my world, I have never felt so confident.

I looked down at my hands; all the lives I have claimed, their blood had initiated me into this world of live and let die. My pale hands seemed to be stained by a furious crimson, the souls of the dead still crying out, reaching out from these hands that were beginning to tell their journeys with blisters that would eventually become calloused. The warm blood will no longer be felt through the thickened and roughened skin.

I could smell it, the blood… from around me, the very air I breathe… no. It came from within me. The stench of the dead was brewing in me.

My innocence, my blissful ignorance, my naïve beliefs of the world, had fallen and died with my enemies. Like my Corrupted Rogue sisters, I have been killed in my battles, my soul as I knew it had left its body with an unprevailing scream of pain. My soul was unwilling, yet my body was grateful. The bloodlust from deep within me as a warrior had been fulfilled.

It was as if I had died and been reborn at the same time. Celadon – the young Rogue mercenary was no longer. I was now a battle-willing warrior. I was shocked to find myself impatient for more action, desperate for the exhilaration of battle.

I knew then, that from that moment, I would never stop battling. I was born into this body of a warrior, and until I leave this body behind, it would be my identity: a Rogue, a warrior against the Prime Evils.

Perhaps this was the reason why my corrupted, undead sisters continued to battle. Their bodies were alive; even if their souls were dead, their bodies still carry out their duties.

And I killed them all.

Looking at myself, I realised my likeness to them.

Is evilness and corruption determined by the lives one takes? Who is the true evil? Diablo and his brothers took over the lands, killing as they advanced. Us, _warriors of the light_, killed as we attempted to reclaim that land.

We were doing the same thing. We were killing one another for the sake of dominance over the other side. We were just as evil, just as corrupted as each other.

Two days after we returned from Tristram, Oread called for me in the morning. 'We're heading towards the monastery.'

She really favoured straightforward statements.

I have also noticed a few other things about my master during these days. She was very apathetic towards battles, and it seemed to me that she would rather have me take care of things, and only doing it herself when she has to. Still, she was very protective of me; save the Dark Wood, I had not killed a single unique enemy. She risked her life while keeping Griswold away from me.

That made me felt irresponsible as a mercenary. I, as a mercenary, should be protecting my master against foes, not the other way around; but Oread did not seem to be angry with my vulnerability. She wanted me to develop, I could see that. She was different from the other warriors that came and took us Rogues as mercenaries.

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It was a long way to the monastery; according to Kashya, we must first return to the Dark Wood, through the Black Marsh, across the Tamoe Highland, before we would even catch a glimpse of the Monastery. Oread decided that we should camp out until we reach the Monastery.

Returning to the Dark Wood by the waypoint, I noticed a foul stench; the many bodies of the dead Corrupted Rogues were decaying, filling the once-sacred place with the toxic smell of carrion. Oread surveyed the area in case of an enemy; I turned away, unable to look at the rotting bodies of my sisters. Once I heard the footsteps of Oread heading towards the Black Marsh, I ran straight towards the direction she was going, not daring to look back. Hopefully there would be another waypoint somewhere close; I never wanted to see that place again.

'Celadon! Watch where you're going!' Oread scolded from behind. I looked up, and before I could register what was in front of me, fear and instincts took over, and I shot another Corrupted Rogue down. So there were more of them. I still could not escape from what I had done.

'Pull yourself together, Celadon!' Oread came up beside me; I must have blindly ran ahead of her. She turned me to face her. 'I know this is hard for you, but thing are only gonna get harder. You have to toughen up, understood?' It sounded strange that she was, for once, expressing empathy. I nodded gratefully. She looked ahead to her left, and I watched as she took down a few monsters from a huge range, from which her targets looked like ants, and not wasting a single shot.

With such a display of her skill, my confidence grew. I aspired to be like her, and I decided, there and then, that I would not give up until I have gotten there.

We checked each corpse, clearing the area little by little, lighting a waypoint in the meanwhile. Soon we came across a strange sight – a small stone building, eroded by battle and age.

'Is it occupied?' I asked my master, after noticing the torches burning consistently on each side of an entrance.

'This must be the Forgotten Tower.' Said Oread.

'The what?'

'The Forgotten Tower. A cruel countess was buried alive when the divine sealed her castle within the earth. This small tower is the top level, and when the earth around it was eroded, it stood out as the Forgotten Tower.' We walked through the entrance, and found a hole in the ground, with a ladder leading down into the dimly-lit underground dungeons. 'Apparently there're treasures in here.' Oread concluded.

'How do you know all of this, when I didn't even have a clue?'

'I came across a tome on the way to getting Cain. I read a bit of it but it just seemed like some silly mythical story to me. Never would I have guessed that this actually existed.'

'If there's more information in the tome, it might help us decide if it's worth it.'

'Well, I've already thrown it away in Tristram. It must be burnt to ashes by now.'

'…'

'Doesn't matter.' Oread looked up at me, her green-hazel-golden-brown eyes somewhat shone with… _excitement_? 'I guess we can investigate this, no harm done. Even if there's no treasure, we can practice some in-the-dark combat skills. The Monastery has underground level, I'm sure?' I nodded. 'Let's go, then.' She began climbing down the ladder.

I was a little afraid of this strange place; its eerie silent and still atmosphere already streaming through the tiny opening. Nevertheless, despite my fear, my body was eager for more action, more danger, more blood.

I climbed down after my master, looking forward to facing the darkness of the unknown, lying patiently, awaiting me.

Awaiting its death.

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Well, I was going to include the completion of the quest in this one, but this chapter contains a lot of Celadon soliloquising, so I thought it would be proper to end it with some too. I didn't expect her to be this deep and dark, even after her bloodlust as a warrior have been awakened; but if this is the direction my inspiration is leading me… I might have to change the ending I have in mind. Celadon's darkness wasn't there as such when I first thought of the ending. It's kinda ironic since at the end Celadon thought of herself as one to destroy darkness, and not realising that darkness is within her, too…

I myself would like to see how this goes. I don't know how my mind works, at times…


	7. Chapter 5: Far Away From Home

Yay! Positive feedbacks! Thank you!

Yeah… I'm here to say again, that there will be inaccuracies as to my in-game details. That's because I haven't played for YEARS, and the current discs I have refuse to launch.

Battles will be skimmed over, because who wants the same ol' Diablo 2 story? We all know it well enough. This is the story of Celadon, so if you're after hardcore action, this story is not for you. If you don't mind a little autobiographical details, read on and PLEASE review… there's _at least_ over 30 or so people reading this, I know from the stats.

**Disclaimer:** Blizzard owns everything except Celadon, Oread, and my weird mind… maybe they own that last one, too.

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**Chapter 5: Far Away From Home**

There were two things I had learnt from the battle with the Countess.

One: In cramped places filled with fast monsters, archery does not really work.

Two: Oread was suicidal.

The only thing that seemed to keep her from flinging herself towards imminent death seemed to be, strangely enough, me; She had been standing in front of me most of the time. Only after clearing out a radius of at least three metres around us with her spear, did she leave me to finish the rest off. Usually, that meant that she took care of mostly Goatmen, while I took down the Dark Archers and Ghosts, when they did pop up.

Those groups of Dark Archers, despite having unhuman blue skin, yellow eyes and blue-black hair, were reminiscent of the groups of Corrupted Rogues I killed back in the Dark Woods. The fact that I took them down without any pause or doubts, the fact that I fires arrow after arrow out of sheer instinct, the fact that I did not feel anything when I slaughtered them, made me feel both stronger and more uncertain. Was this really good for me?

When I speak of it now, nothing arose from my mind or my heart. No emotions.

Now I know. It was not really good for _me_, but it was what I had to do, as the person I am, the person I was destined to become.

In the Forgotten Tower, we ventured through the first four levels systematically; amazingly, Oread was not seriously hurt in the process, and neither was I. A few red potions, and we were back on our feet. Oread took down the leaders on the first three levels. My body was frustrated for the lack of high-level action. The bloodlust was building up as I witnessed Oread take down the stronger foes.

So when we got down to the fourth level, I went for the leader before Oread could get to it. I took it down quickly enough, retreating all the while to put space between us. Something hit me from behind. Tasting metal in my throat and feeling pain across my back, my body fought the pain to swivel around, planting three arrows into the skull of a Goatman. Warm blood splattered over my face, splashed into my mouth, mingling with my own blood. I swallowed it, like a sweet treat after a child had done something good. I felt… _victorious_. It was great.

Turning back around, I killed the leader with another few shots, sustaining another two blows to my body. I did not care; the adrenalin, fuelled by the thrill of the action, more than compensated for the physical pain. The leader's frozen head shattered as I took it right off, the pieces of frozen flesh and bone thawing into a pale reddish liquid on the ground.

The body stood for another few seconds before it fell, and when it did, Oread was before my eyes.

That was another time I noted some emotions on her face. It was one of… terror? Puzzlement? Fear? Anger? Whatever it was, I despised it. It turned me into a child who was guilty of something that she had done. I felt as if I did not deserve that treat I had earlier.

'Celadon…' Oread spoke, her voice was controlled, yet her eyes were quivering. 'Don't… _EVER _DO THAT AGAIN!' It was anger now. 'I told you NOT TO DIE ON ME, REMEMBER? Don't you ever do something so tactless again! You're a long-range fighter, anything close-range is _my_ responsibility! You just stay back and back me up, that's all you need to do!'

'I'm your mercenary.' I replied. 'My responsibility is to protect you, to aid you. Yours, as a warrior, is to take down the Prime Evils, and live to tell about it.' The fire of defiance came into my eyes, as I straightened up. 'I'm not fulfilling my job, and neither are you, if you fight like you did – suicidally, and I stay back to watch you protect me!'

Looking at her face, I saw her features soften, and sorrow replaced her anger. Now her emotions were more explicit than ever. I dropped onto one knee. 'I'm your mercenary, not your apprentice, though I suppose we've both established that, consciously or not. For the sake of anyone who confides in you, including myself, you shouldn't throw all that away so recklessly. I'm the one who's meant to be in the frontlines, preserving your life. If you choose to give yourself away easily, you're not only irresponsible for your own life, but also the safety of the Sanctuary, and my dignity as your mercenary. So let me fight for you, so that you can fight for the Sanctuary.'

My eyes were locked onto hers, seeking out any changes in them; but Oread just blinked them slowly, as her posture slumped. Finally, resecuring her apathetic demeanour, she came up to me and lifted me to my feet, and pushed a round bottle of red potion into my hand. 'This is for you,' she reached into her belt, and pulled out a lightly-crafted, short sword with a thin blade; 'and this. It's nothing fancy but it's well-made. In case you do come into a tight situation, use it to put some distance between you and your enemy before you turn to your bow and arrows. I don't want to see anymore close-quarter arrow fights. Understood?' I nodded as I swallowed the last of the potion, feeling my body quicken in repairing itself. 'Now, let's get this over with.'

The bottom level was full of monsters, and this time, Oread and I took them down side-by-side. She still would not let me get closer to the monsters than she was, but she trusted my abilities more now, I could tell.

We progressed through the chambers, gathering the large sums of gold in each of them all the while. Oread found a better bow for herself, and slung her old bow over her shoulder. 'I'll give this to you later.' She explained.

We moved towards the chamber where the vile aura was at its strongest. As we ran up we heard a loud roar, a deep voice bellowing out inaudible words. I caught the word 'blood'. Oread got up to the small entrance of the chamber and positioned herself, backing the wall and facing the entrance. She nodded at me, and I quickly got behind her, slightly further from the wall, so that I could cover for her, and this position also meant that I could shoot while the enemies were still in the chamber.

Before I even got there, a Goatman charged out. He lashed at me, I dodged, and Oread fired. Straight through the head, in through one temple and out the other. It was dead before it or I knew.

I only took down two monsters. In single-file, the monsters stood no chance against Oread's quick arrows.

Once the line ended, Oread immediately equipped herself with her spear, and charged in, the still-warm bodies squished beneath her boots with the boiling blood soaking into the tough leather. I cringed at the sight, yet, it was soothing to know that I was doing what I was meant to do; I was where I was meant to be.

I followed into the chamber. There was gold on the ground, piles of glittering treasures, guarded by blackened iron bars of prison cells. This was all that I have collected within the millisecond. I soon focused on our current foe – the Countess.

She was not as impressive as I had expected. She looked very much like another Dark Archer, with pale jade-green skin that seemed translucent. Her blood-red eyes glowed, as she charged towards us.

Oread and I attacked together. The Countess was dead within seconds, finished off by another one of Oread's Charged Strikes. It was so easy that I did not believe it at first, and I did not lower my weapon until I realised that Oread had opened a chest and was scooping up handfuls of gold pieces.

'We're gonna quickly go to town and deposit this.' She said, tossing me a blue tome. 'Get everything repaired and give the healer a visit while you're there. Sell your bow; you're having this one from now on.' She moved her left shoulder, her old bow still slung over it.

The bow was longer and heavier than the one I had before, and I was getting used to it as we journeyed across Tamoe Highland. I was getting stronger for sure. I could fire more frequently, and my arrows achieved a further range than I had last observed. Oread was impressed.

After a day of real-life target-practice, with me feeling more and more confident all the while, Oread suddenly offered to teach me the skill of Fire Arrow. I gratefully accepted, but was puzzled as to why I would need it, seeing my Cold Arrows had been so practical.

'We're nearing the Monastery.' She stated, pointing ahead. I could not see anything but a grey shadowing form. Amazonian Inner Sight was more advanced than that of the Rogues'.

However, I understood when I sighted something as I neared the Monastery.

Bodies suspended on stakes. I got closer, and recognised them.

Rogues. Beaten, tortured, cut, bruised, dismembered, disembowelled, beheaded. You name it, they have had it done to them. I took them down at first, but after a few more, I gave up, and simply turned my head away from them. I knew I had to have my mind over the matter for now. If I don't keep my tact over my emotions, I could end up like one of them.

As we got closer to the monastery, there were more and more corpses, and they looked more and more mangled, faces twisted in agony, postures tense with suffering. I tried my best to ignore them, to avoid my eyes reaching theirs, now lifeless, but with horror forever etched into them with blood.

Then suddenly, I turned to one of the corpses. No matter how hard I tried, I could not turn away from it. Even with the many injuries on her, the heavy bruising and swelling, the innards spilling out of her stinking, decaying body, the layer of maroon blood crusting over her body, I could recognise her.

Behind her, as the backdrop of this scene of horror, were the large wooden gates of the Monastery.

The heat, I could feel it within my body, consuming my mind…

Red took over my vision. The vermillion of flames, the crimson of blood, the scarlet of chaos, the solferino of pain.

'_Come, girl, we have to go quickly!'_

'_No! I'm not going without…'_

'_Celadon, go! I won't allow this to happen to you!'_

'_But… no! Don't take me away!!'_

'_You have to stay alive, Celadon! Go now! Get away from here!' _

'_Don't take me… no! Don't take me away! My mother's still there!'_

'_Get away from here, Celadon! Don't turn back!' _

'_You'll only get killed if you stay here. Come with me, we have to get out now!' _

'_I can't! DON'T TAKE ME AWAY! PUT ME DOWN! MAMA!!!'_

Strong hands took me, saved me from the red, grabbed me and pulled me from danger, away from home…

Then there were even stronger hands, hands that pulled me out of my memories, out of the dangers of my mind. The redness was soothed by the greenness of her orbs; the heat of the fire was cooled by the iciness of her face.

Even as my body embraced the grassy earth, I could smell the blood in it, the crimson staining my body. Even as my mind embraced blessed unconsciousness, it could no longer rest in the peace and security of being home.

Because I had never been further away from home.

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Sorry that this took a while to come out, and sorry if the Countess part was anticlimactic… it was anticlimactic for me in the game.

All reviews are appreciated. Just no flames, please, because they don't help anyone.


	8. Chapter 6: Remnants of Horror

Thanks to all the kind people who reviewed!! Wow… it's really going up! Don't give me too much credit… if you want to see improvements, do say so. This chapter's long… be prepared.

**Disclaimer:** I'm getting sick of this… I would be GAMING instead of WRITING by now if I owned anything!! But no Blizzard just HAS to own everything, including Diablo III which isn't gonna come out in a while…

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**Chapter 6: Remnants of Horror**

The first thing I sensed was the damp darkness… a stark contrast to the bright blazes that I remembered, the suffocating heat, the flames that engulfed my home, evaporating all the moisture, even that in blood, leaving only dark, charred stains behind.

My eyes snapped open. It was night. Rain was beating against the fabric of the tent, trailing down the outside, before dissolving into the water-logged earth. How could I see that in the dark? There was a fire, of course.

I turned my head towards the flame, set up outside the tent, where a piece of material extended from the tent and over the fire. This flames unlike the one in my dream; it was warm, reassuring, comforting.

Beside the flame sat my master, Oread. Her armour was laid beside the flame, and her undergarments – a close-fitting cream-coloured top which I took that she wore under her armour, and her black tights – hanged on the other side of the fire. In the glow of the fire, I could see that Oread was dressed in a plain, long, dark dress, with a wide collar, and a thin leather sash as a belt. Her hair was out, and looked wet.

I understood that this was not the Rogue Encampment. I sat up. Oread merely looked at me; her eyes shifted to meet mine, and they remained there.

'I'm sorry.' My voice rasped. My throat was dry and sticky.

'If it helps to know,' Oread got to her feet, came beside me and pushed a mug of warm broth in my hands, the steam rose up and I sipped it hungrily. 'I buried that Rogue. I've set up camp here, because we're nowhere close to a waypoint.'

'Is that why you're wet?' I was slightly shocked that Oread would do that for me. 'Because you've been digging in the rain?' She did not respond. I suddenly remembered; 'Why didn't you use a Town Portal?'

'We're close to the Monastery, and we don't know what's in there. It's better to save them.'

'Can't you just go back to the Encampment and buy another one?'

'Because I'm stingy.' She replied quickly. Not expecting such a response, I was silenced. 'Now, tell me…' She sat down beside me, her eyes studying my face, scrutinising my expression. 'What was all that about? The last thing I need now is baggage, and that includes emotional ones. I need you to be ready to go in there, otherwise…' She paused, her gaze shifted for a split second. 'Otherwise I'll have to fire you as my merc and do this by myself.'

That shocked me so that I almost spilt some of my broth. She really was brusque in her words. 'No! I'm…' I swallowed. 'I'll get over it. I want to fix this! That was my… my mother out there. I just… couldn't force it away.' I was aware that a tear or two had escaped, and wondered what Oread was thinking right now. 'I'm sorry for my weakness. Please, _please_ let me go with you! I won't fail again, I swear! I won't be weak again…' I was sobbing by now. I hated it.

Oread sighed, and put a hand on my shoulder. 'Don't condemn the situation, Celadon.' Something in that voice caused for me to lift my head; I looked into her eyes, and saw her apathetic façade crumble a little, a tiny bit of sadness seemed to have come onto her face. 'It's only what you make it. You can choose to fall and stay down, calling this that you're feeling a weakness, and sulk about it,' she lifted her head, I subconsciously followed; 'or you can turn it into a motivation to give you strength, to get up and do something to make amends for it.'

I was taken aback; she was right. 'So, which is it? Do I keep you or fire you?'

'I've sworn to you as your mercenary.' I replied. 'I don't have the right to decide that, but if you do allow me the privilege of doing so… please allow me to stay with you.'

'Good.'

The next morning, the rain had ceased into a gentle drizzle. I paid homage to my mother at her grave. As I grieved over the past, I also felt hope for the future seeping into me – I was going to accomplish what my mother had died for. I was going to restore the glory of the Rogues.

'You ready then?' Asked Oread, as we stood before the huge wooden gates to the Monastery, concealing the evil within its ancient walls.

I nodded, and, with Oread taking the right gate and I taking the left, we kicked the gates open in unison.

Immediately, a guts of wind gushed out of the Monastery, carrying with it the intermingled stenches of death, burnt things, toxins, mould and decay; but there were more… there was the smell of fear and evil, which overwhelmed me. I felt my stomach churn and tightness in my throat, which I tried my best to get rid of by swallowing.

'You really ready?' Asked Oread, talking to me, though looking intently towards the origins of the vile stench. I nodded slowly, trying to calm my stomach. Oread nodded back. 'Come on.'

She stepped in, and I followed reluctantly. We were immediately greeted by a large group of monsters of all sorts, from Devilkins to Yetis to skeletal Returned Mages wielding balls of fire. I cowered, backing a few steps away, before realising what I was doing, and cast Inner Sight, followed by an assortment of both enchanted and uncharged arrows.

Suddenly, a fireball came straight towards me. It was so fast that I barely dodged it, but after I did dodge that one, another one came. I gritted my teeth, and prepared to take it on. It was too fast for me to avoid.

'Celadon!' Oread's voice called, and to my amazement, the fireball slowed, as if I was watching it in slow motion. I sidestepped, and the fireball exploded behind me. 'Step back!' Oread ordered, and forced me away from the crowd of monsters, putting herself between them and me.

'Oread!' I was both angry and scared for her. There she was again, protecting me, her worthless mercenary.

'Don't worry. I'll need to try this out sooner or later.' She nocked an arrow, and I witnessed its head burst into flame, just like a Fire Arrow, but the flames spat out sparkling specks of embers. She let it loose, and it landed upon a Yeti, before letting out a violent explosion upon impact, killing the Yeti, and injuring several others beside it. Oread fired another few of those arrows, and the monsters lied dead in a pile, their flesh charred and burnt, making the smell even worse.

I did not know what to say. It was so impressive.

'Exploding Arrow.' Oread stated, an obscure grin coming onto her lips. 'You like it?'

'It was very impressive.' I replied. 'Can you teach it to me?'

'When you're more advanced and have better magical and physical skills, perhaps. At the moment, it'll be too much for you to handle yet.' I was slightly disappointed, but I was also excited for the upcoming training.

And the other… 'Oh, what happened to that fireball the mage flung at me? Was it just me, or was it slowed?'

'It's an Amazonian skill.' Oread explained. 'Known as Slow Missiles, which is self-explanatory enough. It's a spiritual skill, using will power to decrease the momentum of missiles…' she went onto explaining, but gave up after a few more seconds, noting the confused look I was giving her. She jerked her head around. 'So, this is the Monastery… it's nice.'

I noted some irony in that, and somewhat grew a little angry at her for such a comment, which I took as insulting. I noted a waypoint, and lighted it. 'Are we taking a trip back?'

'Might as well, but we're gonna be quick. Get supplies on arrows and potions, a trip to both Akara and Charsi for repairs, and we're off again. We're gonna finish the Smith off on this trip.'

We did as she said. Charsi asked about the Horadric Malus, and was glad when I told her that we were close. As she repaired my armour, I paid a visit to Kashya, who was both surprised and relieved to see me back.

'You've come so far!' She gave me a tight hug. 'Are you hurt? She's not abusing you, is she?'

'Captain Kashya, I'm fine. She's a good master.' I had to defend Oread; she was better than a good _master_… she was more of a _teacher_ to me. 'Don't you trust her? I thought you did when you gave me to her as a mercenary. You only give away mercenaries to those warriors who've proved their worth by defeating Blood Raven…'

'Yes, but _this_ one,' Kashya glanced out of the tent, towards Oread, who was stashing away some gold and a few clipped gems into her large trunk; 'this is an Amazon I'm talking about, and they usually get rid of mercenary Rogues as soon as possible.' Her eyes swept through the tent, at the few Rogues that had returned after accompanying warriors as mercenaries, now scarred and even maimed. 'And _this_ Amazon… there's something strange about her, don't you think? They usually come with flair and ego, but this one…'

'Her name's Oread.'

'Well, Oread… seems different. She doesn't smile, she doesn't make smart, flirty comments, and she doesn't strut around in skimpy armours.'

'Is that bad, then?'

'I'm not saying it's _bad_...' Kashya's voice lowered. 'I'm just saying that she's… _different_. She's not the usual warrior we're used to, is she? I'd be careful around her.'

Oread closed her trunk and walked off, but not before throwing a quick glance toward us, which I caught. I sighed. 'Well… Captain Kashya,' I looked at her, looked straight into her dark grey eyes, and felt my defiance flare up; 'You've always taught me about the most important quality in a mercenary.'

Her face fell. She knew what it was, of course – _loyalty_. I continued. 'I'm her mercenary now, and I'll fulfil my duty as mercenary.'

'Hey, I hope I'm not disturbing.' Oread's voice rang out, followed by the sound of me catching my repaired armour and boots. 'I want this over with. Charsi's bugging me for the Malus. Let's go.' Ignoring Kashya's head turned toward her, Oread whipped around and walked off.

'Good day, Captain Kashya.' I took a bow toward Kashya, and ran off after Oread, ignoring the eyes boring into the back of my head.

We slowly advanced towards the core of the Monastery, carefully opening door and retreating to fight, opting for ranged attacks. There were a number of corpses on the way, some of foreign warriors, but mostly Rogues', including one I recognised as my cousin's. I felt the sorrow in my heart, the sickness I my guts, but nothing escaped from me. I was strong enough to hold myself together now. I would not be a burden anymore.

We finally found the door to the Barracks after killing a few other tens of monsters. Upon entering the Barracks, tens of monsters exploded into our sights, forcing us to retreat back into the Outer Cloister to take them down. Oread's Slow Missiles skill really came in handy, as the Mages and Magis grew stronger in number, wielding not only fire, but also ice, lightning, and poison. She commanded for me to take care of the other monsters, while she took the Magis down. As I watched, she seemed to have advanced in her agility as well as her weaponry and magical skills; not only was she able to dodge close-ranged attacks, she also avoided many of the missiles from the Magis with grace.

A few antidotes, thawing potions and a large number of both red and blue potions later, we managed to escape relatively alive, thanks to the many barrels of alcohol we stored in here, and thank goodness they appeared to be emptied, drunk by the monsters that had overtaken this place. Having killed the mass of monsters, Oread found herself a new bow and some new gloves, as well as a belt with more compartments. She equipped herself with them, giving her old bow, gloves and belt to me, and filling both our belts with potions.

As we scouted through the Barracks, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies of monsters behind as remnants of our battles, I felt safe, somehow… despite the darkness and death surrounding us. I was with Oread, my dependable master, whom I have placed all my trust into, probably much more than what she had placed in herself.

The Barracks was nothing as I remembered; it was dim, the torches upon the walls long since distinguished. This place, which was my favourite place for playing with my childhood friends and finding things that adult Rogues stored away, had become a place for brewing evil, a home of darkness. The mysterious yet exciting spirit from my memories of this place was gone, replaced by a distilled aura of fear and doom.

And that aura grew stronger and stronger, until we were greeted by a dark, rumbling voice, almost humming, 'I'll make something from your bones…'

It sent shivers down my spine, shook me from within. The Smith.

I helped Oread kill the last few of the Magis, and followed her steps backwards. I noticed that she was chanting some incantations, and when she finished, a portal appeared behind her.

'You have enough arrows?' She asked. I checked with my hand, and before I could answer, she had already tossed me a full quiver. I quickly took my old one off, grabbed the remaining four arrows, and strapped the new, full one on.

'Hit him with Ice Arrows, and then just run for it.' Oread dictated her plan. 'We're both going for range this time, understand? Keep running from him. From what I've learnt from Charsi, he's a tough and powerful one.'

We did as she told, firing arrow after arrow. I kept casting Inner Sight, illuminating his weak spots, hitting his neck and joints with Ice Arrows, while Oread's Exploding Arrows landed sporadically. I kept backing off, but tripped over the remains of a Magi. The Smith went straight for me.

'Oh no, you don't!' Oread took out her spear, and to my to my amazement, mustered enough strength in one arm to send it soaring through the air. It landed into the thick, bulging back of the Smith, who roared in pain, and changed his target. He was running towards Oread.

I cursed myself for my carelessness, and, clenching my teeth, I took out the sword Oread gave me, and beat the Smith to Oread, who was not backing off quickly enough. Her spear now lodged in the Smith, she was in a vulnerable position; despite her continuous stream of arrows, the Smith was advancing on her quickly.

But I was swifter than the Smith. I positioned myself in front of Oread, and as the Smith threw a punch at her, a small hammer in his hand, my sword moved toward the strike.

And the hand sliced right off. The Smith roared as blood spurted out of the stump of his wrist, covering my face. My eyes were blinded by a veil of crimson as I felt the impact of his other fist, smashing into my chest, breaking bones, tearing tissues and rupturing organs.

Oread and I hit the wall behind us. The last thing I heard after collapsing onto the floor was Oread's yell and the final, echoing roar of the Smith.

The Horadric Malus was right before my eyes, sitting upon the open palm of the Smith's huge amputated hand. I reached for it, and my body heaved and blood splashed out of my mouth. Upon touching the small, sturdy form, my body gave in.

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Oread has passed level 12 now, and was smart enough to save her skill points. I know this built of the Amazon is not recommended, being both a Bowazon and a Spearazon, while concentrating most on the Passive and Magic Skills… but this is based on my first D2LoD character, and by the time she reached level 50, she was doing all right.

Ooh… I don't remember the layout of the Monastery very well now… please excuse any inaccuracies.

Credits to The Phrenologikal Cat for teaching me the word "brusque"! Thanks for the Quill Rat plushie! I love your Druid! I'm also grateful for ALL the other reviewers: Dromiceius (my loyal critic who writes great stuff himself), Dragonfighter12 (who writes a GREAT fic on the Druid and the Zon), Uruquiel2, and hernz (whose D2 fic is amongst the best for a laugh). I strongly recommend their fics!


	9. Chapter 6 and a half: Sister

Well… I thought it's about time for another one of Oread's musings. I was gonna put one at the end during the Act-transition but guess what! I have other things planned for that! This is gonna be short, probably…

A typo in the last chapter… by 'clipped gems' I meant 'chipped gems'. Oppsies.

**-Sigh- Diiisss…claaaiiii…meeeerrrrr… (Man I'm bored of this): -**Deep breath in- Blizzard owns all except characterisations etceteras etceteras yak yak yak… Yes. We all get it.

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**Chapter 6.5: Sister**

I didn't react in time.

I could've gone back through the Town Portal, but I was too careless. It was a mistake… a damned horrible one.

Celadon… thank God she hanged in there. Those two rejuvenation potions I shoved down her throat kept her alive. Thank goodness… Akara said she'll live. She's been using magic to mend her insides, to restructure her deformed ribcage.

Damn… Kashya, and the Rogues. This is unbearable; it's almost like back then… What I need to do now, is go out into the bushes and puke. Yes, I'm going to do exactly that.

Crap… is that blood I taste, apart from the acid and the bitterness of the potions? The hell with it. It doesn't matter now. The kid's top priority for Akara. I'll go hand Charsi the Malus.

Yes, Charsi, very good for you. You should be happy about it, not like it is for any of us… you're imbuing one of my items? Thanks. I'll save it for later. Whatever. Just repair my armour; get that damned blood off it. I look pale, do I? Am I all right? Look for yourself, do I look all right?

I'll go to my tent… and take a break there. I need to think this out… God, my head kills… I must've bashed it a little hard against the wall. Heck… what's this now? I've cracked a few bones, have I? I'll live… I just need a bit of rest. I'll go visit the kid in the morning.

The kid… she's grown a lot. She's picking things up quickly; and frankly, I seem to be rubbing off on her… heck, she's not killing herself. I won't let her. The way she chopped the Smith's hand off, the way she blocked the majority of the impact for me… she's really proved herself as a loyal merc. Maybe I want her to run off or wimp out of all this shit, just so that I don't have to take care of her anymore, or feel guilty for not doing so.

But now that she'd proved that she's sticking with me all the way through, what do I think of this? Am I pleased? Proud?

I'm thinking of her as my apprentice, it seems, or even… a little sister.

Is that so? Do I think of her as a replacement for my sister? Is that why I gave her my sister's short sword, not really for her safety, but as a medium to name her as my sister?

So… Celadon's just another person for me to protect, another person for me to live for.

I really _am_ a selfish bastard.

Damn… this really kills… my guts and my head are aching like the end of the world. How can I expect to finish off Andariel alive, when I couldn't even do _this_ properly? Shit… damn coughing fit… now I'll have to wash the blood of my top before anyone notices and fusses over me. If anyone, Kashya will probably be that person…

What's this? A gash in my head? Now that I've checked… My face is all bloody, too. No wonder why Kashya took a bit of s shock when I came through the portal. Blood-soaked, carrying the dead-looking Celadon, a bloody malus in my hand… I must've looked like some psychotic killer.

I won't let this happen to you again, Celadon, because you're not only my mercenary… you're a person I've set out to protect. I don't want to die anymore; not if you'll be there to watch.

I need to throw up again… damn, there's nothing left except… more blood, is it?

I won't let Celadon see this. I won't worry her. I have to stay strong, at least in front of her…

Don't die on me, Celadon…


	10. Chapter 7: Corruption of the Sacred

Christmas… a season of commercialism and consumerism… The predictions of Matt Groening's _Futurama_ seems more and more valid by the day…

Sorry for being a nihilistic pessimist, but it's true! Except for the nice people who still wish one another Merry Christmases and share gifts that money can't buy. To those people I say: Merry Christmas to you all, with all my appropriate Christmas spirit! Have a safe holiday…

Okay okay, out of nihilist-self and back to jolly-author-self. Thanks to all who has reviewed! And if you're one of those who read but doesn't review, thanks for reading and adding to my stats, but PLEASE review! Just a few words would be enough, whether it's a compliment or a criticism, but no flames, because they don't help no-one.

**Disclaimer: **Does anyone read this anymore? Blizzard owns everything except Celadon, Oread, the inaccuracies in my story, the typos, the additional characterisation of NPC's, and my (in)sanity. Now the question is… Blizzard North, or Blizzard South?

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**Chapter 7: Corruption of the Sacred **

It was so hot… the blood that splashed onto my face, my head's pounding resonating the pulsating crimson in my chest, before it spread all through the cavity of my torso, filling up my stomach, my lungs, my throat, before it came onto my tongue, my nose filling up with the smell of hot metal as I tasted the warm, thick, salty liquid.

Then it was something cool, something that was bitter and sweet at the same time reached my tongue, and I swallowed, grateful to be able to get rid of the sick taste in my mouth. A gentle coolness enveloped my organs, soothing the sharp pain in my body. Did I dream that?

Was I dead? No. I was pretty sure that I was not, though I was afraid to wake up, afraid to accept the knowledge of how badly damaged my body was.

'Are you awake, Celadon?' A voice asked me. I opened my eyes to meet blue-green ones. Priestess Akara… 'Great. You've finally come back to us.'

A wave of dull pain swept over my body, though it was not as bad as I had expected it to be. I tried to test my body by sitting up. 'No no…' Akara hushed. 'Take it easy. Your young body has recovered much quickly than what I've estimated, but you shouldn't exert yourself too much.'

'How did I get here?'

'Well, Oread took you back through a portal. Kashya and the other Rogues had a bit of a shock; I think they thought she's beaten you up or something. You've been out four days; save your energy.'

At the mention of my master's name, a sense of gloom and anxiety swept over me. 'Oread, where is she?'

'Come to think of it, I don't know.' Akara's face assumed a bit of thoughtfulness. 'The Rogues have been pretty hostile towards her, and I've been here all this time, so I'm not sure…'

Bad. 'Priestess Akara, can you ask Captain Kashya to come see me?'

Akara went, and returned with Kashya within two minutes. Kashya looked down at me, and I think there were tears in her eyes. Did I look _that _bad?

'Oh, thank heavens you're awake…' Kashya knelt down beside me, and touched me on the forehead.

'Kashya, what do you think about Oread?' I asked, looking straight into her dark grey eyes.

'Honestly, I don't like her.' Kashya's eyes grew shinier with tears. 'I think she's overusing you.'

'She didn't!' I said that so quickly, the rush of air stang my lungs. I coughed violently and Akara shot me a concerned glance. I took a few deep breaths and continued. 'I _chose_ to fight for her. If it weren't for my carelessness she wouldn't have to take the risk. I was responsible for all this. She's not to blame…' I was both angry and anxious, though my voice lowered itself into a tone of pleading. 'Can you_ please_ send someone to check on her?'

'I'm okay.' A new voice joined in. I looked past Kashya's shoulder to see my master, in her cream-coloured top, black tights, heavy belt and boots, all perfectly clean save a few stains of deep brown or red. Her face had a few cuts on it, and was noticeably pale. Parts of her exposed arms were bound by blood-stained bandages, and her posture was askew.

'I'm sorry, Oread.' I could not stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. 'I'm so sorry that I couldn't…'

'You did your best, Celadon.' Said Oread. 'And more.'

Kashya suddenly leapt to her feet, and grabbed Oread by the collar of her top. Oread winced, but did not retaliate. 'Captain Kashya!' I yelled, and broke off into violent coughs again.

Akara rushed beside me. Supporting my head with one hand, she tipped some thick luke-warm liquid down my throat. I saw Kashya's head turned towards me out of the corner of my eye, but still holding Oread by her collar.

Oread calmly took Kashya's hand and pushed it away, releasing herself of Kashya's hold. Akara laid me down again, and I watched intently as Kashya and Oread faced one another, unmoving. Kashya was at least half a foot taller than my master, but if Oread was afraid in any way, she did not show it through her posture or expression.

They stared at one another for a few seconds, and then Oread turned around and walked off with an apparent limp.

For the next few days I stayed in Akara's tent, recovering nicely thanks to her potions and powerful magic. Oread came to visit at least once a day, seemingly out-of-action at the moment also. We would exchange a few idle words, and then sit in silence, before one of us would be tired of the awkwardness and call an end to the visit.

Oread was depressed, I could see that. The hostility of Captain Kashya and the Rogues was highly evident. A few of my friends had visited me while they were off-duty, and after failing to convince three Rogues of Oread's innocence, I gave up. Oread was an Amazon, and a highly distant, anti-social one at that, which did not serve well with the Rogues' cold attitude toward her. The only way for Oread to gain acceptance was to defeat Andariel, with me alive in the end.

Out of boredom and the lack of mobility I turned to my gear, doing fastidious things like straightening the feathers at the end of my arrows, and aligning the string of my bow. Then I turned to the blade that Oread gave me.

The sheath was made of wood and bound neatly by a tough string, with organic patterns carved and engraved into the deep brown. I unsheathed it; the blade was no longer than a little over a foot. It was just over an inch in width, and despite being plain, was very well-crafted: there were no sharp angles, all the corners were rounded, and the edges were thin and sharp – I blew a few of my hairs towards the blade, and they were immediately divided – converging gently into the sharp point at the end. The whole blade was made of a shiny metal too light in colour to be silver, and the handle was simple but sturdy, made of just the right weight of steel to balance the blade. I closed my hand around it, and it felt just perfect.

After a week or so I felt much better, and I went to Charsi with the short sword. She scrutinised and handled it like a child would a baby animal, and returned it to me – I could have sworn that she tried to tug it back.

'It's not a sword that you'll just find out there.' She commented, with a craving tone. 'See that wood? It's much tougher than any that we'll find around here. That sword is beyond my craftsmanship to produce. I'm not even sure what the blade's made of… some precious metal that's rare around these barren plains, that's my guess.'

If it was as Charsi said, Oread never mentioned anything about it. She had just shoved it to me so casually. I did not ask her about it, either.

Back near the campfire, the blue portal that connected to where the Smith fell still glowed, although not as brightly. After another few days of rest, I was about fully recovered, only a little short on energy. A few stamina potions took care of that, and I asked Oread when we would set out again.

'You're fine?' She asked.

'Yeah, pretty much.'

'Get your gear. I'll meet you at the portal.'

Well, that was easy.

With Kashya shooting Oread another strange glance that I did not fully comprehend, and a take-care-don't-die look to me, we returned to the Barracks through the portal. The portal disappeared with a sudden gleam from behind us, and suddenly, I wish it had not.

The Barracks reeked of decay. With a body as big as that of the Smith's having gone through rigor mortis, its body opened up because of the pressure previously within, and its insides and fluids seeping out and puddling all over the floor, was revolting. I tried to keep my stomach contents where they ought to be, but one glance at the Smith's body, darkened into the colour of gore, the skin wrinkled, damp and mangled and infested with maggots, I thought it was easier to give in.

Oread was covering her mouth and nose with a cloth, and she helped me straighten up. 'I hope this isn't too bad,' was she _kidding_? 'There'll be more to come. Hopefully not as bad as this.'

As we journeyed forward, I had hoped that she was wrong. We reached the stairs to the Jail, and Oread turned to me, her face betraying her unwillingness to descend.

'Is there another way in?'

'I'm not sure, I can't remember…' I tried hard to think of the layout of this former-home of mine, but my memories were too juvenile.

Oread sighed. '_Fine_.'

The Jails were forbidden when I was young, and I found no surprises in them – old bones of captives laid upon the floor of the cells, their silence contrasted by the living dead that we were up against.

By now I was back in top condition, save an empty stomach. We screened through the levels of the Jails, found a waypoint on the first level and returned briefly for some food and replenishments, and went on.

There were plenty to kill, and I felt myself advancing. My body was getting stronger, just keeping up with the monsters I had to fight against. Missile attacks from the skeletal undead were plentiful, and Oread's new skills proved invaluable yet again. She tried to teach me Slow Missiles on the way, but it was too complex for me to even comprehend. She gave up eventually.

We eventually found our way out of the Jails and into the Inner Cloister without any climactic battles. I was not sure how I felt: relieved, or disappointed?

I had never been this far into the Monastery. Lighting the waypoint in the Inner Cloister, we returned to the Encampment once again, this time with Kashya wishing us – yes, _us_ – good luck, which was somewhat unnerving. My friends wished me luck also, and a few began to cry, further adding to my nerves. Akara filled Oread's Tome of Town Portal for free, and gave us some potions. Charsi repaired our gear without charge. Gheed offered Oread and I a drink, which I declined but Oread shamelessly accepted, and Warriv announced that the caravan was almost ready. Cain offered the advice of using fire against Andariel because of some story of her being afraid of the fires of hell… I could not understand the old man sometimes. He was kind, but somewhat strange.

We returned to the Inner Cloister, and after easily disposing of a few more quilled enemies, which Oread left for me to handle, we were standing before the gates of the Cathedral.

This was the most holy place of the Monastery, and I could feel the former holy aura still lingering, only overpowered by the evil, toxic, dark aura that now filled the inside of these gates. The combination of the mingled aura made me feel nauseous, but Oread was indifferent.

As she always were.

'What lies beyond these gates?' She asked, to herself or to me, I was not sure. 'What now infest this once-sacred Cathedral?'

I stood motionless. We both did for a while, perhaps a few minutes, brooding over our immediate future.

Then I noticed Oread's grin. 'There's only one way to find out.'

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That was fun! Yay! I'm very happy right now, my results have come out! They were great!

Thanks again for reading! I've originally written in a different direction regarding Kashya's outburst towards Oread, but I decided against it… this is better! Sorry for the title of this chapter… it's not very poetic. I've ran out of inspiration by the time I finished and went back to name it. Oh, and I've decided on Oread's younger sister's name… just thought you'd like to know. ;P


	11. Chapter 8: Crimson

Okay… uh, I'm trying to make something to look forward to out of this continuous publication; 'flinging out lines' as Phreno-senpai (if you're not familiar with Japanese, look it up. I can't find a way to express it in English) would be familiar with. Makes it more interesting for one, and more structured also.

Thanks for Dromiceius' reviews! Glad to see you back reviewing! Of course, kudos and cookies for all other reviewers, too! Your reviews make my day, I'm for real here. So… onwards!

**Disclaimer:** Celadon plus Oread plus NPC minus NPC Dialogues plus story plot minus the story plot that's already in game plus other original characters equal Ophelion's. Everything else minus Ophelion's equals Blizzard's. Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

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**Chapter 8: Crimson**

'Are you sure you have to do this?' Despite how stupid I sounded, I found myself asking the obvious question.

Oread smirked coldly at my remark, and went up to the gates. She touched the wood with her hand, and I could see her muscles mustering the strength to push the gates open when suddenly…

'Celadon!' The alert in her voice hinted for me to retreat. I backed from the gates, moving to the side as they were thrown open from the inside. The wooden gates crashed into the stone walls and splintered as a blast of wind rushed out from the opening… no, it was not wind. The splinters on the ground remained still, Oread's bangs stayed where they were – in front of her face. What had rushed out was a flow of… a heavy but invisible liquid, which exploded from within the depths of the Cathedral. It felt like fluid smoke that filled the courtyard of the Inner Cloister, enveloping me in squirming tendrils that rose up and grabbed me, halting me from further movements.

It was a force, an energy. That of fear, anguish, horror, and chaos.

If I had any idea what Hell felt like, this was probably what would be seeping out from it.

With the gust of aura, bolts and arrows soared through the air. Oread and I had taken refuge where the gates had splintered a split second ago, and avoided the volley of missiles just in time.

After a few seconds, the missiles halted. Oread cast Slow Missiles – I could now distinguish the sensation that filled the area when that skill is used – and fired a few shots of her own, some glowing blue, some burning or sparkling.

Retaliation came almost at once. Oread avoided a few arrows with amazing agility, but by the time she retreated back next to me behind the wall, she was gripping her right upper arm; an arrow or something must have sliced past it.

I gave her a concerned look. 'Should we take the waypoint back?'

'No. If they see us heading away they might come after us, and we'll be coming back via waypoint surrounded.' She took a strip of bandage from her backpack, and tied it tightly above the gash.

That reminded me… she stashed everything she finds away in her backpack, but when she gave me the sword, I did not remember her rummaging through her backpack…

I refocused on the present. Oread was sucking blood out of the gash and spitting it out onto the ground, before bandaging the cut, all the while keeping her eyes towards the opening leading to the Cathedral.

'Was it poisonous?' I asked.

'It tingled a bit. Might have been cold, lightning, or poison. Can't be sure.' Oread finished tying the knot on the bandage. 'They're not wasting any ammunition. We'll have to take a chance at this. You have any potions on you, those orange or green ones?'

'I have a few.' I checked my smaller backpack, and found several orange and green potions of various sizes.

'Right, 'cause I haven't got any.' Oread whispered, taking me by surprise. Why would she devise a plan if she did not have what it needed? Her way of thinking was strange. 'We'll use them as a cover. Don't breathe them in and close your eyes while they're off; Inner Sight should help you do the job just fine. Okay… start with that small green one.'

Closing my eyes, I cast Inner Sight and threw a bottle of Choking Potion around the corner, into the Cathedral. Within the dark stage of my mind, my enemies were illuminated in an aura of sparkling light grey, choking and gagging. I could see Oread's arrows, imbued with her energy, and my own, landing into already-struggling targets.

We eliminated the ranged enemies in similar fashion, retreating after each potion's effect wore out, carefully avoiding injury, and letting our armour taking care of the worst of the blows. A bottle or two of Health Potions kept us alive, and when we heard no more whistling of missiles through the air, we stepped over the piles of bodies, spiked with arrows and drenched in their dark blood.

The comparatively tiny courtyard opened up to the grand Cathedral, except it was dark, and the air was still and chilly. At the centre front, with the backdrop of a magnificently carved stone wall, was the altar – a small but elegantly crafted and engraved stone feature, with a grand roof over it, pillars that look like twisted white fluids extended from its four corners to the raised floor beneath this altar. A basin and a torch sat on either side, as well as racks of burnt-out candles, melted into ghostly figures.

The Cathedral would have been beautiful, had its light-coloured stone and marble were not stained by various shades of red – blood of all races and ages. Now it simply looked tainted, eerie, corrupted.

There were still a few Dark Ones and their Shamans about, reciting a language unknown but not foreign to my ears, swinging their chipped, curved blades. 'I'm getting sick of this.' Oread grunted, and fired a few Exploding Arrows at each of them, which could have killed them another few more times more. I picked out a few on the other side of the Cathedral.

'Now, let's go and check the corpses for anything useful.' She ordered. 'I'm low on arr…'

She stopped, and looked towards one of the bloody heaps on the floor, just on the left side of the altar. Her eyes were as intense, as if for a battle.

Suddenly, that bloody heap gave a small twitch – I was thinking that the last Inner Sight cast must have not yet been worn out, because the twitch was so small – and Oread shot toward it. I followed, wondering why Oread was not being cautious and readying her weapon, when I noticed what… _who_ it was.

It was a tallish woman with golden hair pulled back into a ponytail, now tattered and messed-up, looking more of a dark brown due to the blood stains. I could see her basic armour beneath the newly-equipped plates – the same as Oread's, but rather than being dark grey and black, hers was of shades of red and brown; I could tell despite the arrows, blood and damages all over it. While Oread wore black tights over her legs, this woman's legs were bare, revealing bloody cuts all over her thighs.

This was an Amazon; one of Oread's tribe.

'Alseid!' Oread knelt down and called softly, gripping the unconscious figure by the shoulders. I saw her extensive injuries – there was no right arm beneath the upper arm, her other arm was limp and twisted, several puncture wounds and a deep gash across the chest would be beneath her armour, judging by the damage. Her left leg below mid-thigh was a mangled, bloody mess, and there was no right foot as far as I could see. Her face was horrifying to look at; underneath the cuts, bruises and blood, her nose was oddly askew, her lips split and swollen at one side; a few teeth were missing, and there was a dark red hole where her left eye should be. The other eye slowly opened, revealing blood-shot eyes that shone a dull blue, making the bloody even redder.

'Alseid…' A small smile formed upon Oread's lips, though it looked somewhat… difficult.

'Naiad?' Alseid replied, her words somewhat muffled by her injuries, but still audible. 'Is that you? I thought… I thought you were…'

'No. It's Oread.' My master's smile had mostly disappeared, leaving the look of a child frightened of upcoming punishment. Nevertheless, she tried to hold up her cold demeanour – I could tell now, some of the time, and this was the most obvious case I had been in.

'So they… sent you…' Alseid's eye began to close, a sad smile taking over her distorted lips. 'Even… _you_. Is there… no hope for our tribe?' Her mouthful of breath whistled through the gaps between her teeth for the last five words, then her eye rolled back, and her body fell limp.

Oread stayed still, as still as her dead friend. After a minute or so I figured that she was trembling – very faintly, but it was definite that she was trembling. I sat down next to her, and saw that her fists were clenched, though there were no tears… but I could feel her aura. The energy emitted from her body was what I could only describe as… crimson.

Oread bent down and kissed Alseid on the forehead, though her lips were quivering as well, and I noticed the tension in her jaws when she finished. She got to her feet, and I copied her gesture. Together, we bowed deeply to the body of the warrior before us…

…The despicable wench whose words had cut like a red-hot knife.

'Let's go find some supplies.' Oread lifted her head to look at me, and I was surprised to find her mask mostly back in place. The only hint was her eyes – the whites were still a little red.

As we searched through the remains, Oread kept the silence. When we finally finished, I returned to her with a few potions and two Scrolls of Town Portal. She took three potions from my hand, two red and a blue, and handed me a full quiver of arrows.

'Oread?' I began as I exchanged my mostly-empty quiver for the full one.

'Yes?' She was organising the compartments in her belt.

'There's hope.' I stated firmly, and waited for her to look at me. She did, but without the surprise I had somewhat expected. 'I believe that you can do it.'

She stood there, emotionless as usual for a few seconds, and then smiled. 'Thanks, Celadon.'

We found an opening to the Catacombs behind the altar. As I walked past the basins I found them to be filled with a scarlet liquid. Some part of me told me to see if it was health potion. I tasted it, stupidly, and almost threw up. No, definitely not potion.

We got behind the altar, and an archer leapt out towards us from a small opening in the wall. Oread barely dodged an arrow, which grazed her on the forehead. Suddenly alert again, I beheaded it with the short sword. It really was sharp.

Oread wiped at the small cut on her forehead and smiled at me in appreciation. I felt a sigh of relief escape me.

The opening was built into the floor in the small room behind the altar, where Rogues would have gotten ready before ceremonies, I assumed. It was now a mess – all the racks and shelves were broken and crumbling, what they used to contain – books, garments, jars, and charms amongst the assortment – scattered over the floor. The opening to the Catacombs was a trapdoor, were Rogues would go through and seek refuge below in desperate times, I guess… now we escaped from it.

Oread opened the trapdoor, and the still-denser invisible fluid smoke spewed out. 'Come on.' She fearlessly went down. I had a déjà vu of the Forgotten Tower. How long ago was that? Two weeks?

The Catacombs were extensive… I had never expected them to be _this_ huge! There were boxes and barrels which once would have been filled with supplies, now empty as Oread kicked a few apart. The large space had a very intense eeriness about it; bones and spikes that looked as if they belonged to giants looped around the walls and the floors, like the very arms of evil embracing the Catacombs.

We advanced very slowly; we had to retreat and close doors behind us for most of the way, it was like the Cathedral all the way down. We soon used up all the green and orange potions, and if not for the barrels and boxes, we would have been easily slaughtered.

'I wish I could've learnt Guided Arrow for this.' Oread remarked, wincing as she ripped an arrow out of her leg. She poured half a bottle of Health Potion over the bleeding wound, and drank the remainder. The wound sizzled and closed, emitting a thick, bitter smell of chemicals.

We finally found a Waypoint on the second level, but we did not have the chance of lighting it until we had cleared out the whole level.

After a quick return for supplies, and barely escaping Kashya's over-passionate pre-death eulogy, we returned to cleanse the third level of the Catacombs... with more blood, that is. As much exhilaration as there was, I was getting tired of it. The few newly-closed wounds leaving healthy pink scars on me did not help. I just wanted to find Andariel and kill her. We were so close…

Then, we arrived at the fourth level. After killing all the enemies in a comparatively small room, we stood before a pair of huge gates, made of dark iron even larger than that leading into the Cathedral.

'You've got Antidotes with you?' Oread asked. I was about to nod as the voice boomed, rattling the metal gates, rattling my bones, resonating within my body.

'Join me in Hell!' The shrill voice bellowed, sending shivers down my spine; it was like the sound of dry thunder cracking with the absence of rain. Oread, however, stood as fearlessly as ever.

'Try me, bitch.'

For a moment, I wondered if she was speaking to Andariel, or Alseid.

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'In Greek mythology, Alseids were the nymphs of glens and groves. They liked to scare travellers.' I found that mildly amusing. Credits to Wikipedia!

That was by _far_ the most fun chapter to write! I changed the Catacombs' opening because… well, I simply can't remember. :P


	12. Chapter 9: Blood Wash

Happy New Year everyone! New ideas come with a new year! I've got plans for the next four acts, like NEW CHARACTERS!! And PLOT TWISTS!!! Yay! I feel so much more accomplished… I just have to get it out on FF dot Net now.

For all who were unsure (sorry Phreno!) Alseid is not related to Oread; they knew one another by being members of the same tribe.

I have a new reviewer! Thanks, **Karaeborg**, for your reviews! I'm a self-admitted review whore… but which fic author isn't? Also to my other loyal reviewers, especially **Phreno** and **Drom**, a big thank you to you all! I _do_ apologise for the grammar mistakes and typos… I'm impatient for one, and English is my second language. Please excuse me :P

Enough… ONWARDS!

**Disclaimer: **Ditto as all my previous disclaimers.

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**Chapter 9: Blood Wash**

The Gates flew open; the gust of spiritual force knocked both Oread and me to the ground. Oread bounced off her hand, and by the time she had landed, she had fired two rounds, three arrows at a time, killing several small monsters that foolishly walked out of the great hall.

Feeling incompetent, I jumped to my feet and joined her. The thick haze of non-existent smoke was enveloping me now, seeping through my pores, through my organs, and inspiring within me a sickening fear of…

Death? Pain? No… this was the fear one would receive in Hell as eternal torment. This was the fear of insecurity, of the lack of peace, and knowing that one would never be able to escape from such fear.

So _this_ was what Andariel had meant by 'Join me in Hell'. Well… knowing what it must be like now, I could not lose this battle.

I cast Inner Sight and took down the Shamans and their Minions by the left side of the chamber, Oread doing the same to the right. Neither of us dared to look at the centre, knowing that one glimpse would render us momentary immobile due to sheer fear.

But eventually, we had to.

Andariel let her minions die, snickering while they screamed their last. When Oread and I cast our eyes towards the looming figure, I froze, as expected, and I felt Oread's shock as she trembled quickly and back a step.

Before us was a looming giant of a female humanoid. Her blood-red hair stood on end, flaring like the flames that the ground was spitting out around her. Her flawless, immaculate skin was of an unnatural golden colour, stretched tightly over her angular skull and cheekbones, the only wrinkles and folds being those at the end of her snarling thin lips the colour of congealed blood. Her nose was thin and sharp, as were her other features: ears, eyes, eyebrows, lashes… oh, and her _teeth_, when she finally grinned and stretched to her full height, abandoning her grand throne.

She almost reached the high ceiling of the chamber. I felt myself swallowing a frightened gasp as she surveyed us with her cat-like orbs of a shade of acidic green. She was naked, save for a small loin cloth, and the ends of a length of chain links hanged off her nipples. At her forelegs and forearms, her golden skin faded into a red as bloody as her hair, and extended respectively into tough hooves and long, sharp claws of bright silver.

'Let's see who these are…' She grunted her eerie words that grated against my mind. I noticed that four sick-grey tentacles that tipped as golden spikes were connected to her back, which I had previously thought as adornments of her throne.

'A young Rogue…' She looked at me, and I felt my heart leaped into my throat, and barely kept my stomach's contents where they ought to be.

'… And a half-breed.' She identified as she switched her gaze onto my master. Suddenly, she brought her arm across, and a crescent of green light powered through the air. Before I knew what had happened, both of us hit the walls of the chamber behind us.

Stars danced before my vision as a bitter sensation spread through me, sending sharp but muffled, tingling pain through my insides. _Poison_.

Getting to my feet and trying my best to hold off the sickness within me, I fired a few Cold Arrows, before gulping down a full bottle of Antidote. I noticed that Oread did the same.

We reunited at the outside of the chamber, as Oread muttered some incantations and a blue portal appeared after us. 'Go through this yourself if you're low on supplies, okay?' She said as she fired another Cold Arrow, before sending out a volley of Fire and Exploding Arrows. She did not notice that I would never comply with such an order of hers.

We circled the walls of both chambers, trying our best to keep our distance with Andariel, but eventually, she had us cornered. Oread tried to open a Portal, but Andariel divided her arms, throwing us apart. My organs threatened to fail with the damage, and I hurriedly drained a round bottle of Health Potion. This was not working well; Andariel was tough, and the arrows only left minute holes on her flawless skin, though she _did_ seem to suffer a little from the Fire. Cain _was_ right, after all.

Andariel turned to Oread, cornering her before blowing her off her feet with another slice of glowing green arc. Oread fired at her continuously, flames exploding into her. I also tried hindering Andariel with Fire Arrows, but one of her spike-ended limbs extended toward me.

I leapt to the side, barely avoiding the sharp, lethal point, before finding myself engulfed in flames. I shrieked and jumped out in terror, rolling to put myself out before swallowing a smaller potion of red.

When my eyesight was restored with the receding of pain, I saw what was happening…

The empty vial dropped, and shattered on the stone with a sharp ring. The sound was soon drowned out by Oread's cry.

With her other spike-ended limb, Andariel had pierced Oread in the mid-section, pinning her to the wall behind her. Blood ran down Oread's body and Andariel's limb.

Before I could regain my tact, her other three spike-ended limbs shot toward me. Unsheathing Oread's sword out of pure reflex, I sliced through one, slicing the end clean off, and left a deep gash in another. The last one I barely dodged, the spike ripping across my back, sending stings seeping into my nerves.

Turning her angry glare toward me, Andariel yanked the spike out of my master. Oread uttered another cry, before collapsing onto the ground. I considered dragging her through the portal, but decided that in such circumstances, it was impossible to make it out alive unless Andariel was dead.

Betting all that I was, I yelled and fired continuously. Arrow after arrow; cold, fire, cold, fire… Andariel advanced toward me, but I did not cower. I had nothing to lose now.

She slapped me across the face, her poisonous claws leaving gashes along my cheek and skull. The poison was kicking in fast now, having added to the residue poison that the Antidote could not neutralise, as well as the Poison from the wound on my back... I realised I had no Antidote left.

There was no way out. I was about to scream my last and give in, when suddenly, Andariel stopped dead. An envelope of dark haze surrounded her, blinding her from her surroundings, it seemed, from the way she looked around in fear. She cried, and the sound was muffled.

Behind her, I saw Oread getting to her feet, despite the dark, blood-filled gaping wound in her body. Shadows hid her eyes from my view, and I felt a sinister air about her. _Unusually_ sinister. It was dark, and felt like… death.

Tuning back to my enemy, I fired at Andariel. Her lost struggles left her critical areas open for my arrows.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Oread dropping her bow and grabbing her spear. She leapt up suddenly, anchored herself where the spike-ended limbs met Andariel's back, and jabbed – no, more like, _hacked_ – with her spear. Blood ran from her hands down the wooden shaft, as the wood began to splinter. I cast Inner Sight and watched in awe; my arrows had run out.

Andariel screamed as her dark blood shot out of her wounds, splashing onto Oread. The two spike-ended limbs that I had not maimed shot at Oread. One was amputated as Oread twirled her spear head around, and the other pierced Oread's left shoulder. Oread's expression did not change; she merely planted the spear casually into Andariel's back, grabbed the end that jutted from her wound, and yanked the spike off though her own shoulder.

I screamed. I could no longer feel the pain from my own wounds; my terror had overpowered pain.

Andariel's voice mingled with my shrill scream as Oread continued to hack at her with the spear, each strike digging into deeper tissue. I noticed that the shaft of the spear had splintered beyond repair; the spear head's tip had broken off, and the sharp sides were badly chipped.

Oread shouted, and fired the spear right into Andariel. The shaft ripped into pieces within her body, and the spear head came through and crashed into the floor, before shattering along with the stone beneath it.

I looked at Andariel; the envelope of darkness had disappeared. She was splattered with her own black blood, and there was a hole through her chest. The chain that connected her nipples was broken at the middle.

Andariel's eyes stared with disbelief, at the pile of innards before her. Her _own_ innards.

Then her pupils dilated, and she fell into the puddle of black. My master rolled off her back, and lied still on the ground.

Beside her, Andariel burst into flame. 'Rest in peace, Andariel.' I spoke; my voice coming out a lot calmer and gentler than I had expected.

I picked up the single Antidote that Andariel's cremation had left, and poured it down Oread's throat. My mind panicked, but my body was sluggish.

Oread swallowed once, and the remainder of the Antidote leaked out. I uttered a desperate cry, before reminding myself of the tact I need to save us.

I tried to lift Oread, but either my muscles were failing me because of the poison, or my master was heavier than she looked. Trying my best to stay up, I hooked my arm under her right shoulder, and, afraid to worsen the injury on her left shoulder, I grabbed her belt, noting subconsciously that its compartments were empty.

The moment I dragged us through the Portal, I surrendered to the protest of my own body.

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Wow!! That was fuuuuuuuuuun!! The Andariel fight rules!

I know there are inaccuracies as to what skill doesn't work on uniques and such, but hey; I'm the fic author, and I breach the rules because… I can.

Oh, and did you know that I'm_ exactly_ ten years older than FF dot Net? Just thought you'd like to know, you know.


	13. Chapter 10: Cure in the East

Whootness!! Act 1 is DONE! After ten chapters… well, strictly speaking thirteen… -cough- though I've noticed how short my chapters are compared to those of, say, Phreno-senpai's. Still I guess I'll stick to my plentiful-but-non-substantial-chapters… FEAR ME!! :D

I love writing action scenes, I REALLY DO:D But whether or not I write it well is… another unrelated matter… snicker… sigh. Thanks again to all reviewers, especially the awesome-ass reviews from Drom, Phreno and Borg (all three names have letters 'o' and 'r' in them! And Oread's name starts with 'o' and 'r'!! Hahaha… sugar is my friend).

All right, **Disclaimer:** We all get it. Blizzard owns all but Oread, Celadon, Anil, Amaranth, Isabel, Kashya's mother-hen-ness, Cain's thinks-he-is-wise-but-he-is-just-plain-obnoxious-ness, and the extra gore and gruesomeness… and soon, I'll own another few characters! Yayness for Ophelion!

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**Chapter 10: Cure in the East**

I did not take very long to come to; for when I opened my eyes again I was still lying on the ground beside the portal, Kashya and two friends of mine fussing over me, and in dull pain. Lights from the torches flickered as Rogues rushed about, casting shades of red over my vision.

'… Akara!' I caught the last part of the command that Kashya was shouting out, whom had not realised that I had woken up.

'Captain…' I strained my reluctant vocal chords, and my voice sounded weaker than I would have preferred.

Kashya snapped her orbs back to connect with mine. I saw relief, fear and guilt in them… or maybe I was deluded. 'Celadon! Stay still… I'll get you help in a moment…'

'Don't worry about me now.' I croaked. 'I'm in no immediate danger. A few Antidotes would keep me alive enough, just… Oread…' My lungs threatened to bombard me with pain, and I was silenced.

Kashya nodded, and then the guilt overtook her eyes. She opened her mouth, but the words come out after a few seconds' delay. 'And Andariel?' She finally asked.

'Done.' I replied, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over me. I no longer felt as if I could drop back to unconsciousness any time soon; that would have to wait until I knew what was going to happen to Oread.

'Hey, Celadon,' Kashya looked at me with difficulty, before turning her head and biting her lower lip. I waited in silence for her to continue. 'I was wrong. I've misjudged Oread.' She shifted her gaze back toward me. 'You and our loyalty are in very good hands. I'm sending her to Akara. Anil will come and attend to you instead. Okay?'

Anil was quite a few years older than me, and had been Akara's apprentice for as long as I could remember. Pleased with Kashya's decisions, I smiled. Perhaps it was the relief, or maybe the poison was taking full effect, I did not know… but with that I slipped away into unconsciousness.

By the time I had regained my senses, it was already morning, judging by the yellow-white light that stabbed through my eyelids. Reluctant to stray away from my dreamless sleep, I opened my eyes to my present world of reality, where Oread was in danger, or worse.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, and a pair of wide, soft-brown eyes greeted me. 'How are you feeling, Celadon?' Anil flashed one of her kind, big-sister smiles. I tried to smile back, but probably just grimaced. 'You're quick to come to; it's only been half a day or so since you returned.' Her voice was soft, soothing the dull aches of my head. With her help, I sat up on my bedding inside the huge tent for the Rogue Scouts. My head still ached, and I felt a little sick in my insides; but apart from those, and the dull stings from my wounds that were not as bad as I had expected, I felt fine. Tired, but I was pretty sure that I would live.

Anil handed me a bowl of thick liquid, of a dark purplish-crimson colour. 'How's my master?' I asked, half-wanting to stall her from ordering me to drink the medicine.

Anil sat beside me and sighed. After a moment, she jerked her head at me, her long ponytail, tied at the nape of her neck, flicked softly. Her eyes were told me that she was worried and exhausted, and I felt a little guilty for adding to her stress.

'Priestess Akara hasn't left her tent _at all_ since they've sent Miss Oread to her.' She spoke softly, but I could still hear the fear in her voice. 'She's asked not to be disturbed until she says so herself.' She paused, and forced a sweet smile. 'But you don't have to worry; I'm everything will work out. Now drink that.' With tat, she walked out of the tent.

I remained still; the tent was empty; the Rogues have probably all gone to kill of the remainder of the lesser monsters. With the most powerful of them destroyed, they should no longer be any problem for our Rogues.

"Celadon, have you drunk the medicine yet?" Anil's voice came through the tent fabric behind me, snapping me out of my dazed state. I quickly raised the bowl to my lips and swallowed the contents. A strong herbal, bitter taste and smell filled my throat and my nose, and I hurried to swallow the remainder. I heard Anil walk off after I finished and uttered a gasp.

Anil seemed to have gone to announce the news of my safety, for within a minute, two friends of mine, Amaranth and Isabel, came cheering into the tent, before burying me in their hugs. I asked for them to help me go to Akara so I could see how Oread was doing; Isabel quickly excused herself, explaining that she only sneaked out from her sentry duty to see me, and must be gone as soon as possible.

So, with Amaranth supporting me, we inched along to Akara's tent. It seemed like I had more injuries than I had remembered sustaining.

The flaps of entrance to the inside of the tent were closed. We got close enough, but there were no sounds of magic or movement. "Priestess Akara?" Amaranth inquired.

"Come in, my child. Bring Celadon, too."

We entered. The tent was brighter than I remembered it from the time after we came back from the battle with the Smith. Akara sat beside a mat on the ground, and upon the mat, was my master.

She was unconscious; bandages were all over her, but particularly thick pads of gauze can be noted beneath the bandages around her left shoulder and the right side of her midsection, where her liver would lie beneath. Her blood-stained cream top and tights were ripped and torn for Akara to access the wounds. Oread was pale, her lips more violet than the usual healthy shade of dark pink. There were shadows around her eyes, and her rasping breath was slow and shallow, but it brought a sigh from me nonetheless.

I looked up and around the tent; a rack was smeared with blood, as well as the bottles upon it. There was also blood and crimson-stained pieces of gauze, towels, bandages, needles and thread on the floor.

"Take a seat." Amaranth and I sat down beside Akara.

Akara took the hood of her violet cloak off, and both of us were shocked by how old and ill she looked. She had gone paler, there were shadows beneath her eyes, and she trembled a little. Healing Oread must have drained her energy so much that it was taking a toll on her body. "Celadon, how are you feeling?"

"I'll live." I replied impatiently. "More importantly, how's my master?"

Akara sighed tiredly, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, a noticed that her blue-green eyes seemed to have lost the brightness of their colours a little. "I've given her enough Antidotes to neutralise the poison, and closed her wounds; she's in no immediate danger. If she remains still, they will heal in time. What concerns me now is the recovery." She looked at Oread, her face sad and defeated. "The poison I've gotten rid of, but it has already weakened her greatly. Her body has no strength left to heal and fight off infections. I can cure injuries, but infections and sickness are beyond my skill."

Silence filled the tent for seconds as we were lost in our own thoughts, then Amaranth's voice broke it. "What should we do, then?"

Rather than what I was thinking, "what _can_ we do", she used the word "should". It was as if she believed that there was something that can be done, and that we would have it accomplished. Her opinions about Oread must have really changed after our most recent battle.

"I know of a certain town in the East." Akara spoke slowly. "Lut Gholein of the Eastern Deserts. I heard that there's a healer there, a former Paladin of Zakarum, a Holy Warrior of the Light, who now resides in Lut Gholein in hopes for a life in peace. However, that town is now plagued with monsters; great evil has seeped into the Deserts. It is very dangerous for you to go there, my child."

"I'll do it." I said in determination. I was going to do anything to keep my master alive; she could not just die like this. "Doesn't Warriv have some business there? He was preparing his caravan for it, wasn't he?"

"He has been postponing his journey, because of the news that it is now more dangerous than ever to travel there." Akara replied, now speaking more quickly. "Though if you offer your protection, I'm sure he'll allow you to join him on the journey there."

"I'll go ask him now." I got to my feet gingerly; Amaranth got up quickly to support me. "Thank you for your wisdom, Priestess Akara."

"My best wishes go with you, my child."

Warriv agreed, stating that he would do anything for my master and me now that we had done the Rogues such a favour. During the next few days, I drank potion after potion, as I watched my body heal and strengthen. All my concerns were for Oread, however, whose conditions were not improving; I wanted to recover as soon as possible so that I could ensure our safety on the way to the Eastern town.

A few days later, the caravan was loaded. With Kashya's help, I carefully placed Oread onto some sheets in the caravan. She looked flushed; I touched her forehead to find that a fever was burning. We must make haste, which was why, when Deckard Cain offered to come, I got a little irritated; he was one more fight-less person to protect.

"You saved my life; this is the most I can do – to offer you my knowledge and wisdom to aid you on your journey."

"Just as long as we're not hindered, Master Cain." I replied indifferently.

When we were about to leave, my Rogue friends gave me a group hug and many farewells and best-of-lucks. Kashya held my hands, tears glimmering in her dark grey eyes.

"Take care, Celadon. May the Gods bless you on your journey."

"Thank you, Captain Kashya. I'll return here when I can." I patted her hands, hinting for her to release me. "I hope the Monastery will be restored to its former grace when I do."

"Oh, and…" She gripped my hands even harder. "Please let Oread know that I am sorry." A tear escaped the pool that gathered on her bottom eyelid, and she bowed her head.

"No problem. I'm sure she doesn't blame you for being protective of your people." I smiled widely. "Farewell, then." With that, I escaped her grasp, and hopped into the caravan.

And so our journey to Lut Gholein began amidst the united farewelling of my people.

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Ophelion's notes time!!!

"Anil" is a shade of blue; "Amaranth" is a red; "Isabel", believe it or not, is a yellow. I told you I'm a sucker for colour shades.

So Act 1 is done! Wow… at this rate I'll need more than fifty chapters to finish this story… ahh…

Oh, and can you tell that I _really_ dislike Cain?


	14. Chapter 11: Intervention

Uh… I've noticed how I use single AND double quotation marks throughout my last chapter. I apologise for that... –mutters something about muscle memory--.

And my alerts have started working again… flooded my inbox with alerts, too. Argh…

I wanna say a HUGE thank you to ALL my reviewers! And welcome to a new reviewer, Bienvenido S. Canonizado… can I call you "Bien" instead? Anyway, thanks for everyone's great, awesome, whoot-whoot reviews! To you all I say THANK YOU!

Enough rant-and-ramble… to the east, we go! HOORAH!!

**Disclaimer: **I wonder how many people actually read through this every single time, but… Blizzard owns Diablo 1 and Diablo 2 and Diablo 2 Expansion and Diablo 3… when it's out. Ophelion owns everything else in this story.

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**Chapter 11: Intervention**

Dawn illuminated the horizon and divided land and sky with a blade that glowed with blood. We were heading east, and the yellow-white rays soon seared through the fragile darkness of my eyelids, stabbing into the front of my mind, forcing me awake.

I took a breath in and opened my eyes; the air had gone still drier and hotter. It was, as Warriv warranted, one of the last few days of our journey. By tomorrow night, we should be able to see Lut Gholein – 'the blue gem that glitters in the sun', he said; the blue being the Palace of Lut Gholein... yes, the small town had a palace. Their empire must have once been spread far and wide.

Now, only a small town remained, sitting idly in the centre of the golden desert.

Oread's fever had worsened, slowly but surely. She was no longer in peaceful unconsciousness, but restless delirium. A few times I had heard her mumbling in her sleep, and once I was sure that she was close to crying. Most of what she had said was indistinguishable to my ears, but she repeatedly uttered one word, with increasing clarity the more times I hear it.

'Nai-yad', she said. Naiad.

When I first realised that this was what she said, I thought I had heard it before, but could not remember when. A few days later, I remembered the bag of items I gathered before I left, when I returned through the still-open Portal to Andariel's chamber. I got Cain to identify them for me, and as I went through the amulets, charms, gems, damaged armour and weapons, I suddenly remembered as a memory floated to the forefront of my mind.

The wounded and dying woman of Oread's tribe that we found in the Cathedral – Alseid, had said that word. She had mistaken Oread for one whom she called 'Naiad'.

Who was this person that Alseid spoke of, and now haunted my master in her dreams?

But this was not my main concern for now, of course; Oread's injuries were not improving, perhaps even worsening. Akara's magic was unable to fully restore the damage. Cain had agreed, as he watched me change the bandages that were soaked in pale, yellow-diluted red, that we had better be arriving at Lut Gholein soon.

There had been several assaults upon our caravan; most I had easily taken care of. There had been several swarms of blood-sucking, disease-spreading scarlet insects, and giant vulture-like demons circling the skies above us. A few had even dived down before they were halted midair by my arrows.

The sun powered to full strength by noon, and I supposed that at this time, even the predators would be escaping from the torturous rays.

In heat-induced restlessness, I wiped the layer of perspiration from my master's face, before plonking down to lie beside her. I was about to doze off when –-

'Cel…'

I jerked my head toward her; her face was still pale, and her eyes were moving sporadically beneath the tightly-closed lids.

'A…don.' She had called me, called for me in her delirium. 'Celadon…'

I immediately shot up and gripped her hand – unexpectedly cold against her raging fever. 'Oread, master, I'm here.'

Her hand tightened around mine, quivering fingers searched out mine. I held her hand with both of mine. After a few seconds, her hand relaxed. I placed it back down and noticed the red blooms on the bandages – from the many cuts over her palms, made by the splintering wood of her spear's disintegrating shaft – so I reached for some clean bandages beside her, and began changing the bandages.

'Naiad...' She said with a calm tone, starkly different to one she had called my name with before.

So I was in her dreams, as was the one whom they called 'Naiad'. Who was this, and how are we linked within the chaotic mind of Oread?

I had a feeling then that I would not find out anytime soon.

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Night fell like a red curtain that gradually faded into violet, then black. The land cooled at an amazing rate as the zephyr that descended from the heavens swept across the burnt earth, soothing the land and the things upon it.

I shivered as the chill engulfed me, despite the blanket that I hugged around myself. In the caravan behind the one that I shared with Oread, Cain snored. The sound resonated in the silence of the night, previously only disturbed by the occasional scuttling of night-feeders. I grimaced at the sound and forced myself to focus at the small fire that we had set up to the left of our trail of caravans. Warriv was in the last caravan, also the one with all the supplies, and no doubt was fast asleep after his daily intake of spirits. In front of me, the two camels were asleep, only flexing a leg infrequently.

I hated early-morning sentry duties, but I was the most competent for it at the moment. Darn it.

The sound of sand sliding…

My eyes snapped wide. Silence again.

I nocked an arrow; the bow's squeak was louder than ever as I drew back the string. I focused my mind, and a dull glow of silvery-blue coated the head of the arrow, and extended a little toward me.

I let it loose toward the flame. At the moment darkness swallowed the small radius of light, a voice hummed in my head, and my mind's eye opened to illuminated shapes, leaping up and down, hopping quickly toward us.

Enemies. Tens of them. I fired, but they were fast. After ten arrows, I had only been able to take down three of them.

And the shapes grew larger, their heads bowed to the ground, tracking our scent, and then they leapt up again, and gradually closed in.

I did not know what to do. Calling for my companions would not help; even if we ran, the camels would not even come close to escaping from the monsters. They were fast when they were tracking; how much faster would they become when they were chasing? As far as I know, the ones that died did not know what had hit them. I dared not enchant my arrows now; they were close enough to pinpoint our exact location, should anything give us away.

I was still weighing up the options, when a rumbling, rolling snore came from Cain's caravan.

I swore, and did not need to lower my voice for it; they had already pinpointed us.

I sent a Fire Arrow flying to relight the pile of wood as I cried out. 'Cain! Warriv! We're under attack!'

Cain poked his head out, and forgetting all the teachings I had received about respecting the elders, I shouted at him. 'Cain! Get your fight-less ass back and stay in there! Warriv, I'm cutting the camels loose for some distraction! Back me up!' I sliced through the harnesses, and taking a length of the remainder still connected to the caravan, I whipped at the camels' rumps. They headed toward the illuminated foes, and a few immediately changed courses and latched themselves onto the beasts. I heard two long and echoing calls of the camels, followed by two _thumps_,and razor-sharp teeth and claws slashing into their skin and flesh, ripping, tearing, swallowing.

It made me feel sick, but I forced my mind to concentrate on the remaining enemies, which accounted for the majority, of course. I fired Ice Arrows followed by other normal and flaming ones. The ones which I happened to be able to slow down were much easier targets, but we were still losing ground fast.

One suddenly entered our radius of light from the small fire, and I slashed it in half between the jaws with the short sword, dodging the incoming claws. I heard a grunt from Warriv and a sick slashing noise, before I was tackled from my right. I kicked off the monster that latched onto me, its claws drawing blood and leaving parallel lines over my right upper arm and shoulder. I beheaded it, but my mind's eye told me that there were still about nine of them left, and when I turned around, the caravans had been turned over.

Cain was hiding beneath the fabrics of the caravan walls and moaning. Warriv was fighting back hard with a long knife, his clothes ripped in several places. The supplies were scattered all over the sand, damp with the water and spirits that were leaking from barrels and bottles.

Before my eyes, the first caravan fell over, and the two monsters, skinny ape-like beings with spikes poking out from their vertebrae and yellow-olive skin pulled tight over their skeletons, tore at the walls.

'No!' I fired an arrow, but missed as a felt a bolt of pain from my leg. I looked down at a monster with its fangs sunken into my thigh, and yelled as I shook it off and stabbed through its chest. I was about to run to Oread's aid when –-

The caravan blew outward. It glowed and with a soft_ bang_, the two monsters were thrown back, a fang-shaped projectile glowing bluish-white lodged in the head in one of them, and in the abdomen and arm of the other. Two remaining projectiles flew off, hitting nothing before the glow winked out at a distance.

I shifted my sight back toward the caravan; there was a faint glow of icy blue from within, and before my eyes, Oread's figure rose up as she slowly got to her feet. The fire whipped violently, and went out as a deep chill surrounded us.

Warriv uttered a cry as a monster hit him about the head. He fell to the ground, and was out-cold, by what I could see with my Inner Sight. The monster pounced to feed on its prey, and let fly an arrow, despite knowing that it would not be strong enough to throw it off.

But before the monster landed, Oread held out her left hand, and without any other movement, a blue-glowing fang shot out of her outstretched hand.

Within my mind, in the world of energies, I saw the fang hit. As the monster fell, the blue energy seeped through its body. When it hit the ground, its greyish-green life force had disappeared.

I looked at Oread, and her usual deep-indigo energy was diminished; instead a fierce icy-blue glow, the same colour as that of the fang-like projectiles, raged through her.

All this only lasted for a few seconds. After that, the blue energy blinked out, and Oread collapsed.

I was alone now. I did a quick count; there were still five monsters left. If they ganged up on me, I had no chance.

The horizon was brightening; the monsters must have sharp eyes, for at the first glimpse of dawn, they all turned their eyes upon me.

'Shit.' I uttered, as I readied my sword. The bow was of no use at such distance, against such foes.

One pounced, and the others followed. I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared for the worst…

Suddenly, there was a sound of swooping wings, followed by a cry of pain from the leading monster. I opened my eyes to see a raven anchored onto its face, its claws dug into its nose and its left eye, and its beak sunk most of the way into the other eye. Dark greenish-purple blood oozed out of it, and before I could react to the sudden change in situation, two monsters landed on me and I was thrown to the ground.

But the weight upon me did not take long to be lifted. There were growls, as the sound of impact was heard. Bones crushed, jointed popped out of their sockets, muscles ripped, and there was more sounds of tearing. I moved my arm that shielded by face, and saw a… a wolf?

If it was one, it was a very big one. Its coat was unevenly grey, darker at the face and the back, and lighter on its shoulders and belly. I got to my feet and noticed another one, looking almost identical except for its more brownish coat. Both were ripping into the monsters, with two ravens finishing them off. The wolves' shoulders must at least reach mine; they were huge.

Before I could put in any useful contributions, the remaining five monsters laid dead around me. The wolves licked their bloody muzzles, then grimaced and flicked their tongues in and out, grinding them along their front teeth, as if the blood's taste was not to their liking.

As for me, I stood, dumbfounded. Then my eyes focused on a quickly-approaching shape. A brown-clad figure upon a black wolf standing almost twice my height. As they got closer, I could see more clearly: the figure was wearing a brown fur cloak, and its hands were gloved, holding onto the wolf's neck. A red helm that resembled a hawk's head served as a helmet for the rider. Two long bundles of autumn-bronze hair flew behind the rider's head. I also noticed that on the ground on either side of them, there were things sliding in and out of the sand like dark, dull-scaled pythons.

This must be one they call a Druid.

The wolf soon stood before me; there were small rings of white around its dark-brown eyes, as well as white on its paws and tip of its long tail, and a small white star-like mark upon its black chest.

The rider hopped off with grace, landing before me. The Druid stood only a few inches taller than me. I was about to speak when a voice, light and ringing, projected from her lips. 'You're in trouble?'

It was a Druid_ess_, then. I had never seen or heard of such a case. Before I could answer, she walked over to where Oread collapsed, where the two ravens had perched, upon the broken caravan. The Druidess looked down, as I realised what the python-like things were; they were vines. One was tinted green, the other crimson. The latter spread its roots upon a corpse of a monster, then, with a sickening loud _pop_, the corpse opened and the innards spilt everywhere. The surface of the vine, surprisingly, was blood-free.

The smaller wolves were sniffing the other caravans; Cain uttered a terrified yelp and poked out of his overturned trailer. The wolves then returned to the side of their master, making low whining noises. The Druidess stroked them behind the ears, then looked up at me, the helm obscuring her whole face except her thin lips, set upon her tanned, cool-toned skin. Her cloak hid the rest of her body. 'You've got three people with you, two are unconscious, and this one,' she nodded at where Oread laid, 'is in danger, isn't she?'

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. 'You're a Rogue, right?' I nodded again. 'That was quite impressive, a sword-wielding Rogue…' The crimson-tinted vine crept towards the Druidess, before reaching into the broken caravan.

'What are you doing?' I ran toward the vine, and fell down from the pain. I had forgotten about my wounds, and my sudden movement had made me remember in a very cruel manner.

'Don't worry.' The Druidess said calmly. 'Lava's going to give this woman a little boost in her life force, that's all. Now, where are you heading?'

'To Lut Gholein.' That was Cain, whom had climbed out of the wreckage and was dusting himself off shakily. 'You're a Druidess, I see? A rarity amongst your race.'

'Hmm.' The Druidess grunted, apparently not taking Cain's words as compliment. 'If we ride there, we'll make it there before tomorrow at dawn. Riding non-stop is not a problem for me, or them.' She looked down at the wolves, and smiled as she patted them some more. The wolves panted happily. 'Is it for you?'

'As long as we have water and a bit of food, we should be fine.' I replied. I had stopped my wounds from bleeding as we spoke; they were nothing too critical.

'Right.' The Druidess nodded abruptly. 'Dawn, take this Rogue and her master. Dusk, you take the men. We'll lead you there, and if anything pops up, we'll take care of it all.' She patted the enormous black wolf beside her. The grey wolf came up to me and poked me with its nose. I patted it lightly on the head, and found its fur smoother than I had expected.

The Druidess helped us all onto the wolves' backs; she was much stronger than I was, lifting Oread with both arms with relative ease.

We rode into the sunrise. Oread's fever was still burning, but her breathing was more regular, and her colour was slightly better. Still, I knew that we had to make haste.

We only stopped once for the Druidess and her black wolf to eliminate a few leaping monsters. We came across a vulture two swamps of blood-suckers; the ravens took care of those.

By midnight, we could see the lights of Lut Gholein, illuminating the small town with yellow and orange glows… but the blue gem could not be seen. Rather, the fires of torches and lamps cast a shadow over the palace's dome, and it looked black and slightly violet – the colours of corruption.

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Ophelion's random notes:

Wow! Longest chapter! Yayness for new characters, new skills, new Act and NEW LINES!!! WHEEEE!! --Flings out lines from flowery basket while skipping along--

'Naiad' is a kind of water nymph. I like naming Amazons after nymphs, okay? It adds an air of Greek mythology to them. I'm sure many of you have figured out who that is… poor little clueless Celadon…

I've been reading a lot lately… STEPHEN KING MARATHON!!!


	15. Chapter 12: The New Battalion

Well… long-time-no-write, I guess. PLEASE review… I've only got 2 consistent reviewers at the moment; from the stats, I can deduce that at least 30 or so people read this 'fic diligently. Your reviews don't have to be as long as some of Phreno's :P; Borg's reviews are short, sharp and sweet and even just a few words are good enough. I just want to know what people are thinking of my 'fic while they are reading it, you know?

Thanks to all other reviewers, too… anyone who took their time to acknowledge the existence of this 'fic is much appreciated, but please leave a few words behind so I can acknowledge your existence, too.

Right, I've had a lot of time to brood over this chapter, let's hope it's a good one! This is dedicated to The Phrenologikal Cat '**Phreno**', who contributed to a lot of inspiration for the new character and her story!

**Disclaimer: **Why do I bother writing this every time? Oh yeah… legal issues. The _Diablo _series belong to Blizzard. The _Bowslingers_ story belongs to Ophelion. Now that I think about it, I should have thought up a better name for this. Bah.

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**Chapter 12: The New Battalion **

I must have fallen asleep on the way into the town of Lut Gholein; the last thing I remembered was gazing at the glowing lights of the town, feeling so grateful for such a sight of humanity. Next thing I knew I was lying in a warm bed, the soft light reached my closed eyes gently.

I opened them; I was lying in bed, inside a small but nice little room, its walls, floor and ceiling all made of uniformed brown wood, washed over by a golden glaze emitted from the steadily-burning lamp on the bedside-table. The dry desert wind gusted through the small window opened to deep-grey nothingness, gliding over my bed, my face. I smelled the subtle sweetness of cactus flowers, but the more dominant scent was a dull stench that reminded me of burning wood that was very dry, and very dead.

I sat up; I was wearing nothing except my under most garment – a plain, tight, dark-brown strapless dress that just reached past my hips – the typical under most garment of a Rogue. The laces at the back were slightly loosened. I checked my wounds, and found them all treated with sweet-scented ointments and carefully bandaged.

I ran my fingers through my hair, and felt that they were stringy with grease, sweat and blood. Grunting in disgust, I threw my blanket off my body, and jumped to my feet as I felt the midnight desert chill hit me. I moaned and shuddered, but I was feeling much better than before.

I opened my door, and stepped into the wooden corridor. I leaned over the wooden fence on the other side of the corridor and looked down into a dimly-lit tavern setting: wooden tables with overturned stools on them, and a bar at one end. A figure in dark clothes was going around to each of the tables, taking the stools off the table and setting them down on the flawlessly-clean floor.

I pulled up the front of my dress a little and tightened the lacings, wincing a little when I strained a wound over my back. Stamping my feet into my boots and throwing my cloak over my shoulders for some extra warmth, I headed down the stairs.

'Oh, you're awake.' The figure spoke up with a voice that once would have been beautiful, but now was worn and roughened by cries and screams. Standing before me was a woman who looked to be in her early-forties, though remnants of youthful beauty still remained on her face, eroded by hard work and hard times. Her deep brown hair was gathered loosely towards the back of her head, the end hidden by a violet cap with golden embroidery. Her thin, petite figure was accentuated by the golden-rimmed, violet overgarment and the long grey tunic beneath. She took down the last stool from the table and walked towards me, smiling a sad smile. 'My name's Atma. This is my public house. Welcome to Lut Gholein.'

'I'm Celadon. Greetings.' My voice came out softer than I had wanted it. I huddled my cloak closer; I've always dressed this way when I was with my fellow Rogues, but now I felt very exposed before this stranger. 'Would you know where my master is?'

'The light-haired Amazon, is that who you're speaking of?' I nodded quickly. 'Fara took her into her house. She seemed to be of ill-health – '

'Yeah,' I cut her off, not wanting to hear more of her opinion of my master's condition. 'Will I be able to see her?'

'I'm afraid not yet; Fara's not out of her house, so I don't suppose she'll let anyone in at the moment.' She brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead, tucking it into the rest of her sleek hair. 'Deckard Cain, Warriv and the Druidess are staying at Elzix's inn. Fara had ordered for me to be in charge of nursing you.'

'What about Warriv? He's wounded, wasn't he?'

'Nothing too bad; he can take care of himself.' Atma's eyes took on a fierceness, which she hid with a look of annoyance. 'I just don't trust Elzix taking in a young girl like you. The Druidess is obviously no problem, with all her wild minions.' She turned her light greyish-brown eyes to me, and smiled a motherly smile. 'So for now, you can stay in my late son's room. I suggest you to go and wash up a little before dawn, when people start fighting for the water. Give me those clothes so I can wash and mend them for you, all right?'

I got around to the back of the public house to find some slackly fenced-off cubicles, each with three buckets. I filled them up from one of the two huge water-jugs outside the cubicles, heated one of the buckets with a small fire, and washed myself as painlessly and quickly as I could manage, taking care not to wet the bandages. Atma had given me a towel to dry myself off, as well as a plain, long tunic with a wide collar, made in a light, cool material of a maize colour, and a wide, dusty-pink sash that went around my waist three times before I could tie it off at the side without the ends touching the ground. She had offered me sandals, but I preferred my boots.

I went out into the streets; dawn was approaching and the sky was coloured a deep but light sort of blue. I looked left and saw the dock leading into the river, and a figure sitting on it.

I walked towards it, and noticed that it was the Druidess. She was clad in a similar outfit to mine; only her tunic and sash were respectively leaf-green and white, and she had tucked away the ends of her sash.

She realised that I was behind her, and she turned her head to the right. Her straight bronze hair, the colour of autumn, was tied in pigtails from the nape of her neck, extending all the way to her waist. A few loose bangs fell over her forehead from the part in the middle, directing my gaze towards her large, childishly-rounded eyes – the exact same shade of azure as the deep-coloured sky, set upon her high cheekbones. There were two parallel, horizontal scars across her right cheek; they curved downwards as she grinned heartily at me. 'Good morning, Rogue.' Her voice rang lightly.

'Uh… good morning.' I looked around and sat down next to her. She wore a long necklace, the rope wound a few times around her neck before dangling at her chest by the weight of her ivory-coloured, fang-shaped pendant, about two inches in length. 'Where are all your minions?'

'They're spiritual minions, Rogue – '

'Celadon.'

'They're natural spirits that feed off my spiritual energy – what commonfolks call "Mana" or "life force" – and in return offer me their service.' She stood up; I noticed that her feet were bare. 'I'll introduce them to you.' She smiled, and closed her eyes in concentration. Overhead, two ravens appeared. 'These are Nimbus and Aether…' then the three wolves appeared; the large black one, then the grey one, and the brown one. 'Soleil, her daughter Dawn and her son Dusk…' Finally, two vines erupted out of the ground, the crimson-tinted at her left and the green-tinted at her right. 'Lava,' she nodded towards her left. 'And Rainbow.'

'You have pretty exotic names for them all, don't you…?' I chuckled in good-humour.

'They're perfectly fitting!' She said, in a way a child does when trying to defend her pets. 'Nimbus and Aether are both sky-dwelling; Soleil has a sun-like mark on her chest, and Dawn and Dusk are named after their colour…'

'And your vines?'

'Lava erupts out of corpses like the spectacle of lava erupting out of volcanoes, don't you agree?' She said; a tone of love for her earthy pets in her voice. 'And if you get attacked by Rainbow, your skin will switch between all the colours of the rainbow! See? They're perfect!'

My smile faltered with the Druidess' twisted humour. She only grinned even more widely as her minions glowed with her golden-orange life force and rejoined her body.

I suddenly realised, 'You haven't told me your name.'

'Oh, I haven't?' She looked at me questioningly, then smiled again and put her hands behind her. 'My name's Falcon and I've lived nineteen years above the earth. Nice to meet you, Celadon.' She cocked her head childishly. 'You're turning seventeen soon, aren't you? You look awfully mature for your age, despite being quite small.'

That startled me; I got to my feet. 'How d'you know that?'

'It's written in your spiritual energy.' Falcon explained matter-of-factly. 'No way could I've told by your looks, though; same goes for your Amazonian master. I bet you wouldn't have guessed that she's only twenty-one.'

'I thought she was in her mid- to late- twenties.' I replied, picturing Oread in my head. 'You wouldn't know how she's doing, would you?'

'The Paladin-healer's got her. From what I know, she'll be all right.' She sat back down, cross-legged. The sky had lightened to a pale blue-grey. 'You're from the west, right? How on earth did two rivalling tribes come together?'

'She came to Westmarch from the south, and helped us cleanse and regain our Rogue Monastery. As for why she did…' I tried to recall, but found nothing. I shrugged. 'I have no idea. What about you?'

'I came from the north. My tribe has been sending out men against the Prime Evils for a while now. My brothers, father and uncles all went and none came back.' She propped her elbows on her knees, and put her face in her hands, staring out into the river. 'But I didn't come for the same purpose as they did; according to my people, I wasn't any good. As a female my body can't sustain shape-shifting and I'm not spiritual enough to summon Spirits.' She said this all without a single hint of resentment in her voice; speaking of all these so very casually. It made me feel somewhat uneasy. 'I came here because the ocean called to me.'

'Sorry?' I cut in. 'What called?'

'The ocean.' She said it, ever so surely. 'Sometimes I think I belong in her, you know… I've never seen the ocean, since we live in the snowy, mountainous regions. Still, I always felt that I'm meant to be part of the ocean. She's been calling to me… something's hurting it, corrupting it.' She looked away from the blue scenery and looked up at me, smiling but looking serious. 'That's how I got here, I guess. This river leads into the vast ocean.'

I began to see that this Druidess was more than what she had seemed, much more than a happy-go-lucky person that I had first thought her to be. I looked around; the sun had fully escaped its prison of the horizon, and the streets and the markets began to crowd with people. 'Come on, Falcon,' I called to her, holding out a hand to lift her to her feet. 'Let's go and visit the town.'

I remembered that Atma mentioned a certain 'Fara', whom was the healer who took Oread in. I asked around and surely enough, tracked her down. Outside her shop, which displayed an assortment of armours and weapons, a little boy aging no more than twelve was working on a damaged piece of leather armour.

'Mother's at home.' Said the boy, studying us with his clear blue-grey eyes before dropping them back to his work. 'She was up all last night. Won't be back in a few days, she said.'

I explained the situation to him, and he directed us to his home: a small single-storey block on the other side of town. I tried to catch my breath at the door while waiting for Falcon to catch up, and then I knocked three times on the wooden door.

A woman opened it; the same blue-grey eyes and heart-shaped face as those of the young boy's at the store greeted us. 'You must be the newcomers.' The gladness manifested itself through her husky, dark voice. She opened the door fully; Fara was a stout, strong woman, clad in a pair of baggy work-pants tucked into her heavy boots, and a buttoned-up white shirt with the top buttons opened up and the sleeves rolled up to above her elbows. Her hair was hidden by a red headscarf; her bare arms were muscular, and she looked intimidating.

'Fara.' She held out her hand, and took mine in a strong, firm hold.

'I'm Celadon, of the Rogues.' Fara smiled at me, and I relaxed. She took Falcon's hand, and Falcon shook back and introduced herself. 'We believe that my master is with you.' I voiced out the thing that must have been on all of our minds.

'Yes. Do come in.'

We entered the small-but-tidy house. Tools of a blacksmith resided in one corner, and a small shelf of potions and books stood in another. A small, round table sat off-centre in the room. Three rooms led from this main room through light, white curtains. One room, the one on the left's curtain was drawn.

'From what Master Cain told me, Oread's injuries were inflicted by the Maiden of Anguish…'

'That's right.' I replied in a soft voice, unable to contain the sick, nervous sourness in my chest.

'Pierced twice with her poisonous stings…' Fara uttered an anxious chuckle. 'I'm surprised that she lived this long after that. Even Akara's healing wouldn't have done it; she was greatly weakened to the point that her body wouldn't be able to recover if left on her own. I would've thought she'd die on the way, but she fought hard.' She led us before the drawn curtain, and stopped, dropping her voice a few notches lower. 'She's regained some consciousness, but she's still very ill and weak, and might seem a bit groggy…' She lifted one side of the curtain and led us in.

The room was brightly-lit from the early sun. It was empty except for a small bedside table, a lamp upon it, a short shelf full of books and loose parchments, and a bed. Upon the bed was Oread, lying on her back under the sheets. Her shoulders and arms were not covered, revealing a heavily bandaged left shoulder and bandaged hands and wrists, which were otherwise bare and naked. I had never seen her muscular arms and shoulders this clearly, and it was rather reassuring.

Her face was slightly turned toward us, and after a few seconds, her eyelids parted.

I had never been so glad to see those green-golden-brown eyes. 'Master Oread! How are you feeling?' I ran up and knelt down on the floor next to her.

Oread smiled at me; there seemed to be anxiety and fear in her eyes when she first opened them, but now they had been hastily dismissed. 'Celadon, you're safe…' Her voice was harsh and croaky. 'I'll live. Thanks to Fara.'

'How did you do it?' From behind me, Falcon asked.

'Paladin's art – auras.' Fara answered proudly. 'They work like no potion or magic. It's divine intervention that saved her.'

I looked behind me and saw that Falcon was smiling satisfactorily. 'Master, this is Falcon from the northern tribe of Druids. She helped us on the way here.'

Oread's smile disappeared. She shot Falcon a look of caution – or the closest she could manage, anyway. 'You came all the way down… from the north?'

Falcon grinned widely, but I could sense her uneasiness. 'The ocean's been calling to me. If we aim for the same goal of ridding the land of evil, we're on the same side. I'll cooperate with you; after all, you have more experience back in Westmarch.'

Oread looked sternly at Falcon, then inquired me with her eyes. I smiled and nodded. She sighed and blinked slowly.

'Your name's… Falcon, huh?' Oread grinned weakly, but pleasantly. She reached up with her right hand. Falcon drew closer to the bed, and Oread patted her right forearm twice. 'Welcome to the battalion.'

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Ophelion's Opinions:

I never knew that Atma could heal in the game… Thank you, Arreat Summit.

I thought I could bring in quite a bit of Falcon in this chapter, since both Oread and Celadon's characters are already well-established.

Please review! I really need (and want, of course :P. No wait… _crave_) your comments.


	16. Chapter 13: Lingering Confusion

Just so you know, there'll no longer be any author's notes after the end of a chapter. This calls for credits to be given to Icy Mike Molson, for a review he submitted somewhere else. Makes me realise that author's notes at the end of chapters do dramatically shorten the concentration of the reader on the actual story.

Thank you both, Phreno and Borg! I wouldn't write another chapter until I've got SOME idea of how I've done, so you should be proud because this chapter's coming out now because of you! The characters would like to thank you too…

**Falcon: **YEEEEEEEE!!! --Glomps and huggles and sends her three wolves to lick you both--

**Celadon: --**Beams-- Thank you very much! --Bows deeply-- --beams some more--

**Oread: **--Broods--

**Ophelion: **Ahem…

**Oread: **--Looks cluelessly at Ophelion-- --turns-- --is slightly startled as she sees Phreno and Borg-- --Smiles--

**Ophelion: **... Anyways... The _Diablo_ series is a product of Blizzard's. Everything else belongs to me.

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**Chapter 13: Lingering Confusion**

Oread's conditions improved.

Two days after I had first visited her at Fara's, she seemed to have recovered enough to stay conscious to converse with Falcon and me; but she always seemed a little distant when Falcon was there, as if she had something to hide from her. Falcon, with her sharp instincts and perceptions, seemed to have noticed this, and on this day she had decided to adventure around the nearby desert lands for a little.

After making her promise that she would be careful, I made for Fara's store. She was there, and said that there would be no problem for me to visit my master. The door was unlocked, she said, and asked me to make myself at home there.

So now I was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed once again in my Roguish clothes which Atma had mended highly professionally: the small brown dress, boots, my standard black choker and bands around my neck, upper arms and thighs – why they were part of the standard Rogue's outfit I would not have known, but they made me feel less exposed.

'How are you feeling today?'

'Better than yesterday.' She wore a tunic like the maize-coloured one I had before, only it was a greyish-blue colour; fabric must be one of their most-traded goods. 'If only my body could recover more quickly; I have a feeling that we're wasting people's precious time here, and the life of this little town.'

'You can't help this.' I tried a reassuring smile, and apparently it had worked.

'Where's Falcon?'

'She's out scouting the surrounding areas.'

'Good, I have to talk to you about something.' Straightforwardly – as expected from Oread's no-idle-chatter quality; but there was difficulty seeping out from between her words. 'What happened back in the Catacombs?'

'What?'

'What happened to Andariel?'

I was genuinely and completely puzzled. 'What do you mean, what happened to Andariel? You killed her with your own hands!'

'I did?'

I was getting a little frustrated now. 'Of course you did! Do you mean to tell me that you don't remember?'

'That's exactly it.' She replied, taking me by surprise.

'The poison must've numbed your senses…'

'That's not it; it wasn't like a slow fade-out kind of memory.' She looked directly at me now, and I could see the prominent confusion in her eyes. 'Tell me what happened after Andariel stabbed me against the wall and lashed out at you.'

This was unbelievable; in any other case I would have thought that she was toying with me, but the confusion was so innocent. So I told her everything after that: me using the sword against Andariel; realising that I had no antidote and considered giving in; the dark, hazy envelop surrounding Andariel –

'Wait,' she cut me off. 'I got _up_ after that?'

'You did.' I said firmly. 'And you used a skill I've never seen before… it was like the exact opposite of Inner Sight; rather than illuminating the enemy for us to see, that skill made Andariel blind and deaf to her surroundings.'

Oread looked uneasy. 'That's not an Amazonian skill… I didn't use it.'

'But you did.' I paused, contemplating whether to tell her about her unusually sinister air when she had used that skill, and decided against it.

'Anyway, go on.'

I went on to telling her how Andariel had died, the way she had torn her spear apart when she had hacked Andariel to her gory death.

'I was gonna say; I don't even remember being nailed through the shoulder.' Without being aware of it, her right arm reached for her left shoulder. 'I know_ that_ skill, though – Impale, my people call it. It's one I've learned just so that I can have enough knowledge for the harder ones I'm planning to learn later… I've never considered using it; that was a good spear…' She looked back up at me, signally for me to continue.

I did so, telling her Akara's verdict, and our journey here. I told her how we got attacked and how Falcon entered the scene, hesitantly bypassing the part about Oread's own counterattacks, as well as the things that she had said in her delirium.

'Sounds reasonable enough.' She lied back onto her pillow. I kept my silence, and then Oread jerked her eyes towards me. 'Are you hiding something?' She asked abruptly.

'Huh?' My heart skipped a beat.

She looked into my eyes with her piercing, strangely-shaded orbs, and I swallowed. 'You're playing with that jewel again.' Her eyes moved down to my neck, where my fingers were fumbling with a milky, opaline jewel that dangled from the centre of my choker – a talisman that my mother had left me. I put my hand on my lap quickly. 'You do that every time you feel unsure or guilty; did you know that?'

I silently scolded myself; Oread was too unexpected, too abrupt, _way_ too observant; and I was too easy to read.

'So what is it?'

No longer able to suppress my naïve honesty, I told her everything about her dreamy mumbles and her contribution to the battle, down to the point of her alternately-coloured life force, changed from deep-indigo to ice-blue. When I finished I sighed deeply, and when I looked up at my master I saw that her eyes were watery and fixated on the ceiling. Her face was pale and her forehead was slick with a thin layer of perspiration.

'Oread? You all right?' My voice communicated my panicky concern.

'I… I'm fine.' She snapped out of her daze, and dragged the back of her right hand over her eyes.

'Should I go get Fara?'

'No, Celadon...' She gripped my right forearm with her right hand as I was about to get to my feet. I looked back, and saw the longing in her unfocused eyes. 'Just… stay…' She passed out with that.

I went and got Fara, who would later tell me that Oread seemed to have suffered a shock that had mentally drained her somehow. Before that I had been talking to Falcon, after she returned from her trip with a few items, which she had sold for gold, and a few imperfect gems, jewels and runes, which she had kept.

'What do you think of Oread, Falcon?' I asked, as we were sitting, once again, at the dock, looking out into the river. She had unarmoured herself, wearing only a short sleeveless dress which fell to the middle of her thighs, the V-shaped collar and the sides of the dress below her arms opened up to the bottom of her chest. A tube top and shorts beneath that, all made from what looked like animal skin of brown or grey hues that had been hastily ripped apart, leaving uneven and ragged edges. She had short, light boots on, and still wore the necklace around her neck. She looked a lot more at home in her current outfit.

'Your master…' She began; her feet swinging above the low-tide. 'Is unlike any Amazon I've seen on the way. She doesn't fully _feel_ Amazonian… from what I can tell, she probably hasn't been Amazonian all her life. She feels partially of some other race.' She lifted her left knee, hugging her folded left leg against her chest, and still dangled her other leg. 'Though I can't tell what that other part of her is. It's very well-suppressed; she's probably not aware of it herself. It'd be firmly held from her own consciousness.' She turned her head towards me; I noticed that I was playing with my jewel again, and I stopped. How could I have not noticed this habit of mine before? 'Besides, I'm sure you can tell that she's not the typical Amazon just by her looks.'

'True.' I replied absent-mindedly. I remembered how Andariel had greeted us – 'A young Rogue, and a half-breed'. That was what she said.

Oread and I did not bring the topic up after that. Another week passed, and one day, after I had returned from a bit of monster-shooting (monster-mauling for Falcon), I was surprised to find Oread standing beneath the arch to the city of Lut Gholein, her back to the wall. She was wearing the same greyish-blue robe that I saw before, but she also had a sash of dark-red, which she had draped from her left shoulder to her right side before tying it around her waist. She looked remarkably elegant like this, her face having regained a healthy blush and her clean, shiny hair twisted into its well-accustomed loose plait.

'Welcome back.' She beamed at us.

'You've fully recovered already?' I asked, feeling joy come into my eyes.

'Apart from my shoulder and my side, I'm well.' She replied with the smile in her voice. 'And Falcon, I haven't greeted you properly yet.' She held out a hand. 'Oread, of the southern Amazonian tribe.'

'Really now?' Falcon took her hand energetically, producing a sharp clap. Her words sounded good-natured and genuinely amused, but she and I both knew otherwise. 'I'm Falcon of the northern Druids.'

'I think we owe you a huge favour.' Oread said gratefully. 'How can we ever thank you for saving us on the way?'

Falcon retrieved her hands and put them on her hips, before lifting her head towards the sky and uttering a hearty laugh. 'No need for that. In the present situation, the more allies the better.' She blinked her bright azure eyes. 'Though I wouldn't turn down a drink.'

So we went to Atma's public house, which, at this hour of past-noon, was crowded with people. After we ate Oread asked for two pints of beer. I only asked for a small glass of ale; I had never been fond of the strong taste of beer.

Falcon asked us about Westmarch, and Oread and I told her about our adventures. By the time we had finished, Falcon had finished her drink; Oread was halfway through, seeming to take her time savouring every little sip. I, on the other hand, was struggling to finish the last few mouthfuls.

Falcon was trying to badger Oread into finishing her drink quickly and spare her the torment of seeing unfinished beer, when Atma walked over to us. I drained my glass quickly, grimacing at the taste, and turned towards her. Her face was strained and difficult.

'Atma, what is the matter?' I asked.

'Well, I…' She swallowed, and went on quickly. 'I have a favour to ask.'

'Spill it.' Oread remarked quickly and took another sip, ignoring three pairs of staring eyes.

'Our city is troubled.' Atma said with her terror-strained voice. 'I'm asking you to help us. You've defeated Andariel, and I have faith in you.'

'What is it that you want us to do?' Oread put her pint gently on the table, turning her intent eyes to Atma.

'There's a great evil residing in the sewers beneath our city;' Atma sighed. 'It's a lair of the undead. Their leader is a mummy known as Radament. Our townspeople had tried to destroy him, but we were not strong enough. Not Greiz's mercenaries, not my husband, nor my son.' She bowed her head a little, and my heart was filled with the sick sensation of pity. I was unsure of how Oread would react; she was the type that kept going in a straight line, avoiding detours. While she was not heartless, I was sure that she could be overly-rational when it comes to unnecessary troubles.

Oread moved her eyes away from Atma and swept them across to Falcon and me, searching for the approval in our eyes. She found it, and with all three of us watching her, awaiting her decision, Oread took another casual sip at her beer. 'I can't and won't promise you anything, ma'am.' She replaced the beer perfectly over the ring of cool condensation on the table. 'But we'll give it a try.'

Atma sighed and smiled at the same time; she looked happier than I had ever seen. 'That's all I ask of you.'


	17. Chapter 14: Evil's Brewery

WOW! So many reviews… a huge welcome to **Elise Davidson**,** InnerFire** and **Icy Mike Molson**! I DO try and reply to every review, unless you send a few at a time, which then I will only reply to a fraction of the amount. I shouldn't be so naïve as to think that having English (yes; Australian English IS English, Icy Mike, and there's a semicolon for you) as my second language should justify my incompetence as a good writer, though; so any con-crit, FIRE AWAY!! Just no flames… irony unintended.

I haven't written for two weeks, during which I have been manifesting a new-found interest in Chemistry.

I'll tell you now: If you read on and find anything strange, it's doable. I've done the out-of-place things in this chapter with my Amazon before, and it works.

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns the _Diablo_ series; Ophelion owns everything else, including all the REVIEWS!!

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**Chapter 14: Evil's Brewery**

I had expected for us to be setting out after another week or so; but despite her initial reaction, Oread seemed actually quite glad that Atma had asked such a task of us. Four days later, we were wandering about town, talking to a few inhabitants, in the hope of getting a bit more prepared than having no idea whatsoever.

A few people of Lut Gholein were quite eccentric – amongst the _most_ eccentric of everyone I had ever know; but then again, I had not known too many – Falcon commented to me a few times, mainly about the scarily lustful way Elzix stared at her in the inn, and Lysander's senility, of which she found mildly amusing and strangely adorable. Oread was reserved on her opinions, as she bought a dozen bottles of antidote, and, while handing me half of it, advised Falcon to do the same.

Then we got to the palace. As we attempted to enter, the guard there prohibited us from doing so in a pretty rough manner. Oread looked at the guard, looking both undeterred and uninterested, and then she whipped around casually.

'Let's go, then.' She began walking off.

I was about to follow suit when a voice stopped us all upon our tracks. 'I'm sorry; you three must be the newly-arrived warriors. My greetings and apologies to you.'

I turned around to face the owner of that humble, polite, and smoothly masculine voice. His face is one of a local person, but he was somewhat taller, and less stout. With his cleanly-shaven face and soft eyes of dark, midnight-blue, he looked no more than twenty. However, by his clothes – white shirt, white trousers, a long blue outer-garment and sash, completed with a white cap with a red gem set into it – one could easily tell that he was one of royal descent.

Atma had told me of the only survivor of the royalties that had fallen to the evils within the palace. This young man was Prince Jerhyn.

I contemplated kneeling before him, but Oread's indifference and Falcon's ignorance kept them both standing, and so I remained standing also, my hand wanting to fly to my neck for that comfort jewel again. I pushed it back down beside me.

'Yes, indeed.' Falcon grinned her wide, sunny grin, and held up a hand as a casual salute. 'Nice meeting you. I'm Falcon of the northern Druids.'

I meant to introduce myself, but Oread's voice cut mine off when it was about to manifest itself in my voice box. 'And you are?' She asked, in a dark, interrogative tone that starkly contrasted with Falcon's.

'I'm Jerhyn, the former prince of Lut Gholein.' He from Oread, to Falcon, then his eyes came to me and stayed for a few seconds, before looking back at Oread. 'But now that my family has fallen, my responsibility is to protect my people, mainly from the evil within this palace. This is the reason why you are not to enter. It is for your own safety.'

'We're no mere travellers.' Falcon contributed to the conversation. 'We're able to defend ourselves. We came here to help – '

'Actually,' Oread cut her off. She was still speaking to Jerhyn as she continued. '_She_ came to help willingly, so the credit is hers. I only came here to bother Fara for a bit, and I think it's only fair that I repay you somehow, so that I won't owe anybody.' She glanced at the palace; she must also have felt the strange, worming poison that was seeping out, from beyond the confines of the palace itself. 'Maybe we should give this a try.'

'You mustn't.' Jerhyn replied, still composed but with a hint of anxiety in his expressions. 'The evil within is beyond our imagination. Many of my men have tried to rid us of it; and so far, none have returned but one. He was driven into wild madness, and the day after he returned, he mutilated and killed himself.' He bowed his head, his face communicating both grief and terror.

Oread and Falcon stared at the young man before them, Falcon looked startled, but Oread's face remained cold and hard. I took a few steps forward to look at him, trying my best to generate reassurance in my eyes. His eyes met mine, and I smiled. He returned it with his eyes, though it had not reached his lips yet.

I could have said a few words of comfort, but again, Oread's voice came before that. 'Well, then.' I looked back, seeing her beginning to walk off, while Falcon still stood where she was, deciding whether to follow or not. 'Guess we'll just have to sort out this Radament business first.'

'You're going to Radament?' Jerhyn asked. 'The Greater Mummy?'

'Is there another Radament around here?' Such was Oread's rhetorical response. 'Are you going to talk us into being afraid of _him_, too?'

Jerhyn looked hurt. A flare rose up within me; not really anger, but frustration. When Jerhyn spoke again, however, his voice was assertive. 'My people have died in attempts to slay him.' Oread turned her head, not facing him, but looking at him out of the corner of her eye. 'If you shall try, I am not going to stop you. This is an evil we know, and I have hope in you, from what I have heard from Warriv. If you go to Greiz, I'm sure that he can offer you some help, in one form or another. I only ask you to return alive; if you fail to kill him, don't die trying.'

Oread looked for another second, then turned back and kept walking. Falcon turned to follow, calling back to me. 'Let's go, Celadon.'

'We'll be fine, Prince Jerhyn.' I grinned at him, and this time, he smiled back. 'See you later, then.'

I got ready to catch up to the other two when Jerhyn spoke again. '"Celadon", is that your name?' I turned back to him; the grin was still there. 'Will you promise me that you'll come back alive?'

'Yes, that's my name.' I smiled even wider. His voice had such a quality that can easily cheer people up – when he was himself cheerful, that is. 'And yes, I promise.'

Greiz was a stout, broadly-built man of his prime time, though his crudeness in speech and posture made him somewhat repulsive – to me, anyway – and with his full chain mail armour in such heat, I believe that his smell might be just as repulsive, if not more.

Oread and Falcon apparently felt the same, for they stood on the side opposite him of the large trapdoor built into the ground, and stayed there even as they conversed.

'This leads down to the Sewers, yes.' Greiz spoke up, in his rough and somewhat guttural voice. 'It's tough down there; some of my men had perished; but there _are _a few that had returned, and they can offer you some help if you want.'

Just then, fear leapt into my throat, and so did my heart. This was what some Rogues had spoken of – the exchange and subsequent forced resignation of Rogue mercenaries. Many of them had returned from Lut Gholein, when their masters had opted for one of Greiz's mercenaries. I realised then about the unspoken rule of the Sanctuary – one mercenary per warrior. You could have multiple minions that you conjure, but only one mortal, human mercenary. That rule was probably set because one warrior cannot have too many lives under his or her command, for the journey was too perilous; lives should not be wasted.

I was not sure if Oread or Falcon knew of such a rule, but they both looked uninterested, anyway. 'I have enough allies of nature at my command, thank you.' Falcon replied, a little defensive from her confidence in her minions.

'That's for her.' Oread went on after Falcon, before Greiz could reply. 'As for me, I work in solitude.'

'Then who would that be?' Greiz nodded at me, his chain mail chinking. 'That pretty golden-eyes is a Rogue, I believe. A mercenary.'

Oread turned to glance at me as she spoke. 'A mercenary? No… she's not _exactly _a mercenary. She's more like…'

She trailed off for a split second, and within that time, my mind raced. She sounded genuinely thoughtful. I wondered what my position was in her mind; was I a companion? An apprentice? A _disciple_? My thoughts were along those lines, and so when she continued, I was taken by huge surprise.

'A slave.' Oread concluded.

My jaw dropped. Beside me, Falcon's did the same, but she recovered more quickly, and her shock was soon converted into poorly-stifled laughter. Oread's face retained that feigned thoughtfulness. She nodded. 'Forced, unpaid slavery, that's about right.' Her eyes were again on Greiz, who was also taken by surprise; though he managed to keep his jaw in place. I quickly snapped mine closed. 'So thanks, but no thanks.' She crouched down over the trapdoor. 'Falcon, Celadon, let's get in through this entrance.' Atma had mentioned two entrances to the Sewers, but I thought Oread wanted to show Greiz, straight up, that she did not need his help.

'Wait, Master Oread,' something came to the forefront of my mind, and it was urgent. 'You don't have a spear with you.'

Oread froze, and looked up at me. Her expression was that of a person whom had just awoke from a dream so real that the line between reality and imagination was blurred. For a few seconds her face was set in that expression, and I realised that she must have totally forgotten about it.

Then she voiced out a single word: 'Damn.'

I was afraid that I might have embarrassed her, but if I had, she did not show a bit of it. She got up and faced Greiz again. 'All right, Greiz, if you're still keen to help,' she had no shame in her voice at all; 'can I borrow a weapon from you? I heard that all your men are skilled in the wielding of two-handed and polearm weapons; surely you have a spear that you can lend me?'

'Hmm… I don't know…' Greiz had a triumphant look on his face; I knew that Oread's actions would have their consequences. 'All my spears are out, if I recall correctly. It's the fastest and most versatile weapon that I have, and my men quite favour those qualities.' He smirked, and restrained it. 'I have a few polearms, but they wouldn't do you much good; I mean, Amazons are spearwomen, are they not? Polearms might be a little heavy and foreign to your hands.'

'I'll take it, regardless.' Oread's voice was firm, and somewhat impatient.

'If you say so.' Greiz went back to his tent. For the minute that he was gone, Oread seemed to have zoned out, and neither Falcon nor I dared to interrupt her. When Greiz came back, he had a scythe with him. 'I had a war scythe back there, but even _I_ wield it with difficulty.' He stepped over the trapdoor, and handed Oread the scythe. I thought he expected her hands to sink due to the weight, but when Oread took it, she did so with unexpected ease. It fitted into her hands snugly, and she looked almost… at home with it.

I walked up and examined the weapon over Oread's shoulder. The blade was sharp and smooth, but it was coated with a layer of dried blood – it was a weapon of good quality and bad maintenance. Though it still looked quite new, and Oread did not protest.

'Good.' She exclaimed, almost excitedly. 'I'll bring this back to you with poison added as interest. Now if you'll be so kind as to excuse us, we'll be off to sever some undeads' heads.'

'Be my guest.' Greiz stepped back, and helped her open the trapdoor. Oread did not react to this; rather, she cringed back as the putrid stench of the Sewers leapt out from the hole in the ground.

'This is a rotten task.' Falcon commented, apparently not realising the irony in her statement. 'We better get something _good_ out of this.'

'Let's get this over with, then.' Oread disappeared into the ground. Uttering a moan, Falcon followed, and I reluctantly got up to the entrance.

'Don't die down there, girl.' I looked up, and Greiz was smiling down. Not a mocking smile, though; it seemed genuinely well-meaning.

Not knowing how to respond, I climbed down the ladder into the Sewers.

The pungent stink was overwhelming. A wave of nausea washed over me and I struggled to steady myself and my stomach. Ahead, Falcon's voice, though barely a whisper, echoed. 'My allies won't be happy, being summoned here.' This was followed by a series of pulsating sounds of her life force, made visible as they took on the forms of wolves, ravens and vines. 'It's so dark down here.' She stated.

Oread used Inner Sight; the surroundings were slightly illuminated, revealing an interior made of weathered sandstone, broken in pieces in some places with the holes filled in by smaller pieces of stone. Some parts were walled with strong meshes of steel, showing the sand and stone that threatened to collapse into the space. Beyond our vision, the slow trickling flow of part-liquid hummed.

I wanted to get out of here. I was about to urge the company to get going when something glowing with its dim-green life force came into view. I let fly a Cold Arrow and the foe went down with a dull groan. I ran up to investigate, but Oread quickly yanked me back by the shoulder.

'Watch out for it.' She voiced with urgency and severity, as a cloud of green fume exploded into the air. _Poison_.

'Whoa.' Falcon exclaimed. 'Hey, Oread, why didn't you just go and buy a spear? Then you wouldn't have to put up with that sucker.'

'I haven't told you before, have I?' Oread turned a little to Falcon. 'I'm a miser.'

As I have been before, Falcon was silenced straightaway.

The first level of the Sewers were not very exciting; we cleared out the small groups of walking corpses quite easily, taking care not to be too close to them. Falcon's wolves got mildly poisoned a few times, but her Carrion Vine – _Lava_, she called it affectionately – made up for their losses. There were piles of greenish-brown goo on the ground, seeming to promise treasure; but when Oread shot at one at a distance, just in case anything happened, something _did _happen – an explosion of muck, and a _whoosh_ of poisonous cloud. We veered far from those piles of goo from then on. It was only in the second level when things got a bit more interesting.

There were still some of those blasted corpses, but the majority were weapon- or magic-wielding skeletons – similar to those that once infested the Rogue Monastery, but with a fresh coat of blood over their yellowing bones – and some that are known as 'Sand Raiders', according to Atma, which were lanky, four-armed humanoids with horrifyingly diminished facial features, armoured in thick plates and armed with a sharp knife in each hand. The Sand Raiders, despite their giant size, were easily taken down compared to the skeletons, which were much faster, and much deadlier with their ranged attacks.

This was when Greiz's scythe came in handy, as much as Oread tried to refrain from relying upon it. We tried, for a while, to use ranged-attacks on the skeletons, but we had to keep dodging and ducking behind walls, and Falcon had to keep supplying more mana to her minions to keep them alive. This was not a situation that Oread liked very much, and she made her point very clearly when she slung her bow over her shoulder, readied the scythe, and ran out.

'Hey, Oread!' Falcon tried to pull her back, reaching out an arm; but a burning sphere came flying, and Falcon pulled her arm back with a moan and fell to her knees, cradling a badly-burnt forearm.

'Master Oread!' I turned the corner of the wall, after seeing Falcon pull out a red potion and drained it with a few gulps. Oread was swinging the scythe freely and quickly – not as fast as some would be able to swing it, but faster than I had expected her to be capable of – shattering bones as the blade cleared a radius of several feet around her. With her being the main target, Falcon's minions and I made use of the distraction, and added a few kills of our own.

'Oread! Celadon! Step back!' Falcon's voice rang over the symphony of massacre. A chill overtook the surroundings, nearing us as it intensified. Oread, the wild minions and I retreated back to Falcon, as a small tornado ripped through the crowd of skeletons, filling up their empty bones with snow before ripping them apart into shards of ice.

I was slower than Oread, and a skeleton caught up with me as I ran. I heard the zipping noise of an arrow; knowing that it was too close to be dodged, I unsheathed the short sword and tried to somehow deflect it. The blade cut the arrow cleanly I half as I felt a sharp pain where my neck had just curved into my shoulder, just beyond where my shoulder plate ended. Before my eyes, the tornado ripped the skeleton apart.

Then all was still. For now.

'Celadon.' Oread's voice from behind me. I had dropped to the floor and was sitting down. I felt her thin fingers over the cut, and cringed. 'It's only shallow. If you hadn't deflected it, it would have buried itself straight through your neck.'

I shuddered as Oread's merciless words established meaning in my head. I heard another set of footsteps before Falcon squatted down in front of me. 'You all right?' She beamed.

I nodded. 'What was that?' Oread asked her.

Falcon's deep-azure eyes shone with pride as she replied. 'That was the Northern Winds agreeing to help us out a little. It's a blast, isn't it?' I looked at her left arm; it had stopped smoking and oozing, and there was little swelling. Still, the burn was blackened and looked raw and painful.

'Why didn't you do it before?' Oread asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

'I didn't have enough spiritual energy to make the exchange with the Winds. I had to supply it to the wolves first.' Her three wolves came to her, and she stroked them. Soleil nudged Falcon's face with her nose and whined, while the two cubs made soft grunting noises and lied down beside her. Her two Falcons also settled down, one upon her shoulder, the other on a metal ring upon the wall, originally intended to be used to support torches. Falcon's face was filled with innocent concern. 'Maybe we should take a short break before we go on; we seem to have cleared this level.'

'Agreed.' Oread got up slowly and walked to the wall beside us, and sank down onto the ground with her back to the wall. Then she began to breathe deeply and quickly.

'Are you okay?' I asked her, after re-plugging the half-emptied bottle of a health potion. She had a few bruises and cuts over her, as well as grey soot.

'My passive skills really came in great use just then.' She smiled distantly. 'I didn't get hit too many times, no. Don't worry.' Nevertheless, she took out a rather large bottle of health potion, and drained it very quickly. I realised that she was resting her left arm, and after she had tossed the empty bottle away, her right hand went to press on her left shoulder.

'Master Oread, are you really well enough to go on?' I asked after a few seconds of hesitation. 'Your injuries shouldn't have healed that soon – '

'I'm fine.' She did not allow me to continue. 'Shall we go? The sooner we get out of this darn stinking brewery, the better.' She got to her feet.

'Took the words right out of my mouth.' Falcon grinned and jumped to her feet quickly, before offering me a hand. 'Come on, Celadon.'

We held our breaths as we descended into the lowest level, but the spectacle – or there lack of – was anticlimactic. There were no monsters to greet us, and the place was relatively silent.

Suddenly, a few corpses, two skeletons and a Sand Raider came towards us. A few arrows, and seconds of the wolves' frantic mauling later, their mutilated bodies lied before us.

Falcon got up to examine the bodies, but as she crouched down to the Sand Raider, both Oread and I saw –

'Falcon! Watch out!' I screamed to her, and the wolves yelped and sprang. As she looked back questioningly, the Sand Raider lifted two of its arms, the knives held high.

But Oread was faster than any of us were – in fact, I think she had ran up to her before I had cried out – and before the Sand Raider could divide Falcon into three pieces, she had tackled her out of harm's way and returned with a few arrows, first freezing it then shattering it with another two arrows. While this happened, I did the same to the remaining corpses, who also took their turn to stand back up.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Oread…' Falcon's voice was soft, much unlike with her usual cheery tone. 'I didn't know.' She opened a bottle of health potion for her, and I saw what happened to Oread – it seemed that she was a little slow after all, and the Sand Raider had left a deep gash across her right thigh. However, this was not what caused her slight paleness and pain; she was on her feet, but slightly bowed over, her hands clutching at her shoulder and her side. She must have re-injured herself; the fragile, newly-re-knitted scar tissues must have been forced apart from her sudden movements.

'I thought I could hold it together if I'm careful enough.' Oread said apologetically. 'I guess what happened was uncalled for.'

'We have to return to town!' I said as I took out one of the scrolls I had with me, a Scroll of Town Portal, and broke the seal.

Suddenly, a sting of numbness hit me; blackness shrouded my vision for a split second. I felt the scroll disintegrate into frosty ashes within my hands, and when I regained my vision, I was falling backwards.

Before I could impact with anything hard, my back landed on something soft and furry, but tough. I was pushed forward, and as I regained my footing, Dusk, the brown wolf cub, came up beside me. His hair was on ends, and he was growling at the shadows before us.

I quickly cast Inner Sight, illuminating the shadows, and regretted it. Standing before us was an army of corpses and skeletons, with three Sand Raiders; and in the centre was a man-like figure, twice my height and with skin of acid-gold stretched thinly over the rock-hard bulges of its muscles.

I stretched my neck to look up to its head. What I saw was no more than an enormous, monstrous skull, with blue-green flames dancing in its hollow sockets.

'Too late.' Oread concluded, as Radament's undead army stormed towards us.


	18. Chapter 15: Ongoing Battle

I know it's been only three days since my last update but… I have another week until Uni begins, when I will have to stop writing so much… so this is probably the second- or third-last work I'll put out in a while. I'll still write, I guess; it's just that it won't be so frequently updated anymore, at least until the week-long Easter break, and then late-June, after exams, and three weeks of holidays, during which I can write vigourously. So at this point, I have no idea how frequently I'll update this; but I guarantee that I won't leave this story to die and rot amongst the corpses of abandoned 'fics.

Upon close scrutiny of this, I realise how difficult it is to write in total in-game style, without sounding strange and downright corny. So I've omitted and did major modifications to a few elements. I guess then it makes this 'fic look more like a story than a walk-through of the game.

This chapter is a shortish one, but I just had to finish the battle. It was pretty spontaneous, too – I made it up as I went along then only went back to refine the language and stuff. Let's see how it works…

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned _Diablo_, in which case I would probably be getting paid for this; but I'll stay broke no matter how much of this I write. This story is the only bit of _Diablo_ that I, "Ophelion", own. There, Blizzard. Happy?

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**Chapter 15: Ongoing Battle**

'It's no use!' I cried out, as we kept retreating and I killed a skeleton for the fourth time. 'They'll just keep being risen again! We need to kill Radament!'

'You think I don't know that?' Oread grunted as she let loose another two arrows. 'We can't get close to him; not while he's got his minions. He can just pick us off with those little shadowy star missile things that he used on you, and the poisonous missiles that almost had me.' She shot a corpse at close-range, shattering its frozen head, before dodging behind the wall to evade a volley of missiles from the skeletons. 'Falcon! Are you ready to do that tornado thing again?'

'I haven't got enough to complete the summoning.' Falcon replied as she concentrated her energy at Dawn's shoulder, which had been torn open in combat. Her golden-orange mana enveloped the large wound, and it healed within seconds before my eyes. 'I've used up my blue potions.'

Oread grunted again, this time with more frustration. 'You owe me. These don't come easily.' She took out two tiny bottles of bright pink rejuvenation potion from the deeper compartments of her belt.

'Thanks.' Falcon caught them both. 'One should do for now.' She said quickly, before draining the bottle in two gulps. 'Right, give me a bit of cover. I have one shot.'

Her minions ran around the corner. Oread and I fired a volley of arrows; suddenly, Radament's eyes turned onto me, and a green bolt of poison flew at me. Black stars and grey veils exploded into my vision, and I fumbled for an antidote, retreating the way I came at the same time. When I reached the wall, I drained the bitter, gluey potion, and my vision began to clear and the numbness subsided as the chamber was filled with the howls of chilling wind.

A few seconds later, the air calmed. I could hear Falcon breathing heavily, before she yelped and was knocked over.

'Are you spent, young Druidess?' Radament's voice was no more than a rush of air from his non-existent voice box, yet it was deafening. Beside me, Oread got to her feet, using the scythe as support. I did not even notice when she collapsed.

'Master…' I was not sure what I was going to say, but my voice was lost when something dripped. My eyes moved to the dark droplets, then upwards from thereon. Blood was slowly seeping from the gash in her leg, but the drips came from a gap on her armour, between her left shoulder plate and her breastplate. My eyes moved back down, and saw that the top of her tights was soaked on the right side to a deep burgundy against the black fabric. She seemed unhurt from the recent action, but her older injuries were tearing themselves up.

She gasped, as she quickly drained a health potion. The dripping stopped, and the burgundy patch stopped spreading. We had to devise some sort of tactic…

'You can't run away forever.' Radament's breath hissed. There were soft sounds overhead – sounds of clicking bones and grinding joints. Falcon's icy attack had obliterated the foes of the second level, but on the topmost level, Radament's magic was doing its work.

We did not have much time. I looked to the side as Falcon got to her feet. She must have been hit with a few of those dark shadowy missiles. Thin cuts marred her bare skin and cut half-way through her armour of leather, and she looked exhausted. The ravens had disappeared, and the green-tinted creeper of poison – I still felt strange calling it 'Rainbow' – was nowhere to be seen.

I was still trying to think of a plan when Oread ran around the corner.

'Master Oread!' I screamed, and reluctantly went out after her. If we had stayed, we would have devised some sort of plan, but it was too late now. The fight was resumed.

Oread hacked at Radament's legs. Radament was surprise, it seemed – he must not have expected such a suicidal approach. She had managed a few good hits when Radament struck her with his fist, throwing her off. She maintained her grip on her scythe, however, and she bounced off the floor and charged again.

'Bring him down!' She yelled, as a few green bolts tore past her, denting parts of her armour and the floor around her.

I fired a few Cold Arrows; two went through to the inside of his skull and the others lodged into his chest and shoulders. There was a huge gush of air as he screamed, but the chill did not seem to be taking effect, and he remained standing. Oread had taken this distraction to her advantage, however, delivering a few more blows.

Then without warning, she collapsed. Radament dived for her, his jaws ajar, revealing yellowed fangs. I screamed and ran for Oread, knowing full well that I could not save the both of us.

Then Radament was bowled over, literally – a wave of heat filled the already-stuffy chamber, as a small ball of molten rock, its outermost crust cooled into a dark brown with small crevasses revealing the yellow-red beneath, rolled into his feet, its small trail of flame quickly diminishing. Radament fell to the ground clumsily, allowing Oread the chance to struggle away and drain an antidote potion. Before she could finish the potion, however, Radament had gotten back to his feet, and Oread dropped the remainder in haste to pick up her scythe again.

'Celadon,' Falcon's hand landed on my shoulder as I fired more arrows. I realised that there were no more wolves. 'He may be resistant to both impact and the deadliest elements of chill and poison, but Radament's central life force lies beneath the base of his skull, behind his headdress. If you attack him there, he will be destroyed.' Sure enough, Radament did wear a headdress; though his skull was so big, that I had failed to notice it until now. 'Oread has been badly hit by his attacks and is at her limit; she'll fall any second now. I've had the other potion she gave me and can use up a good amount of my spiritual energy in exchange with the earth for a larger boulder. That would buy more time. Meanwhile, you'll be the only one left to take him down – I'll be practically useless after another exchange.' She took her hand off me. In my mind's eye, I could see her mana burning up within her. 'Can you do it?'

Just then, Oread collapsed. Mustering up my strength, I fired three arrows at once, knocking Radament off his course temporarily, as he stumbled a little and locked the deathly embers of his eyes onto me. 'There's no choice, Falcon! Just do it!'

A boulder rolled past me, its diameter about five feet in length, much more than that of the one before. It was so large and so fast; Radament could not have dodged this one even if he tried. 'Come on!' Falcon, looking dangerously pale now, got in front of me and crouched down, her hands folded over one another. 'I'll give you a boost.'

I stepped over her hands and pushed off as hard as I could, and with Falcon's somewhat surprising strength, I leapt over the over-twenty-feet distance between Radament and me, and caught up with the speeding boulder. Before he could reach Oread and kill her for good, the boulder crashed into Radament's legs once again; but prior to that I had landed briefly on the molten boulder, and carefully kicked off vertically, cracking the thin and brittle layer of solid rock.

When Radament roared and started to fall, I was above him and I unsheathed the short word. His headdress came a little loose, and I saw that small core in the hollow of his lower skull – a pulsating mass of silvery-blue-green glow, like a twisted organ festering with diseases.

I landed on him a split second after he hit the ground. Both my hands were on the hilt of the sword, and they followed my landing, burying the blade straight through the shimmering blob of Radament's core of life. I was surprised to find that the blade was yellow-hot and encased in flames – I had somehow channelled my Fire Arrow energy into the blade, while not exactly remembering when I did so.

The core looked soft and gooey, but what my blade struck was like sand – not the soft, dry sand at the surface of the desert, but the tightly-packed ones beneath, under the point where one can no longer dig any deeper with bare hands, and can only try and push down in vain as the softer sand around it flowed around your hands. That was what I thought then; down to the backfilling sand.

Except rather than soft sand that backfilled the gaping hole, it was the burnt fumes of toxins. The dying core sent up a tremor, running through the blade and into my hands. I struggled, but managed to keep my blade where it was, until Radament screamed voicelessly and deafeningly, and the core glowed. The huge amount of power locked into this small mass, the huge power that kept this dead corpse of a mummy going, was unleashed as Radament's existence faded away.

My eyes snapped themselves closed from the blinding brightness, just before I felt the explosion of the core. I felt myself flying, the sword no longer in my hands.

I awaited the painful landing, but instead, someone caught me from the back, and backed the both of us towards a wall.

It was Oread, I was sure of it; there was no mistaking the smell of… of _crimson_. The smell that was not as prominent as when I first noticed it, back in the Cathedral of the Rogue Monastery, but was always there nonetheless, ever since I had first noticed it then.

And then there was the memory of my muscles. A scene flashed at the forefront of my mind – facing the Smith, in the Barracks. I had gone down, but before that, Oread had caught me from the back and softened the impact of the Smith's punch.

Had it been that long? No. It had been less than two months; but within this short time, I had grown into the mercenary that I was supposed to be.

Radament was disintegrating – yes, such was the word to express the spectacle of his destruction – glowing embers of blinding blue-white leapt and spiralled from his corpse as his spirit was broken. Overhead, the sounds of shattering bones, ripping flesh and voiceless shrieks filled the chamber above. Radament was finished, and the Sewers were cleansed – metaphorically, anyway.

When all that remained of Radament was a pile of sick-smelling dust, I looked back and up at Oread. She smiled – actually smiled. 'Good work, Celadon. Thank you.'

'You have my life.' I once again swore the oath of the mercenary.

'Right, now that he's finished,' Falcon's voice broke thorough the mist of reminiscence. I turned to her; she was still pale and worn from the battle, but her energy had seemingly improved. 'Let's take what we can and get out of this stinking hole.'

'What's this?' I asked, as we rummaged through the chest. 'A book? And a scroll?'

'Well, there's also a socketed bow and a nice spear.' Oread grinned, straining herself a little to dig through the treasure. 'And bits of armour. Take those with you, Celadon; it might be important. I don't think anything in this chest is mere trash.'

'We can't take too much.' Falcon said disappointedly, as she found a lavender-tinted jewel, and marvelled it for a moment before pocketing it. 'We have to go back up through this huge maze…' She looked up ahead, and pouted.

'No we don't.' I grinned as I found what I was looking for, a scroll with a blue seal. Oread had a tome of it, of course, and she would have probably opened one up soon anyway; but I would feel disrespectful if I asked her to open up a portal.

Falcon took the scroll from my hand. 'What's this?' She examined the seal. 'You had one before, too.'

'You've never used one?' I did not expect Falcon to be so inexperienced with such items of the Sanctuary; but then again, her young life _had_ been rather secluded. 'Read out the incantations, you'll see.'

So Falcon opened up a portal, and was amazed and even more amused by such magic. We took all that we could – which was almost everything, excepting a few unfamiliar weapons and armour: a large kite-shaped shield, a heavy helm that would have been too large for any of us, and a claw.

We then stepped through the portal, and headed straight for Atma's public house. I looked at the scroll in my hand – I had not wanted to put it into my backpack, it looked so old and fragile – and noticed faint watermarks of magical runes.

Whatever this scroll was, I had a feeling that this upcoming period of rest would be brief.


	19. Chapter 16: Coming of Age

WAH!! I've got this all planned out. All the plot-twists are written down as notes and I only have to get there! There are huge twists at the end of this Act, the beginning of the next, the end of the fourth and Act V is just… well… where everything becomes clear. And I mean _everything_. I've even got the ending paragraph in mind, down to the _exact words_. Yes, it's all very exciting. Now I just have to manifest the gentler twist that I have in mind for the progression of Act II.

This chapter is more character development and some rare feel-good stuff, as another quest is delayed -.-" I've noticed this piece of writing doesn't have a very tight plot structure, aside from what Blizzard has already created (if you want a tightly-plotted story, I highly recommend Phreno's _Bloody Hellfire_); rather, I hope that my characterisation and graphic details make up for it.

And a big welcome to **Lady ElfDragon** and **Ranka**! And thanks to all my loyal reviewers, of course. Special thanks to Phreno for reviewing all my new chapters so diligently!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Diablo_. Apart from this story, that is. Hell, I don't even own the plot.

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**Chapter 16: Coming of Age**

'So wait a minute,' Falcon stopped Cain in the middle of his never-ending paragraph. 'Let me get this right… we have to find a _cube_?'

'That's correct.' Cain replied, gently smoothing out the flaking edges of the old scroll. The _Horadric Scroll_. 'The Horadric Cube, the Staff of Kings, and the Viper Amulet. They can then be transmuted into the sacred artefact of the Horadric Staff, which, according to this,' he gave the scroll a soft flick, 'is the key to sealing the evil of Lut Gholein. I am not yet sure of what this means – the runes have become more difficult to decipher, at this point – but the sacred objects of the Horadrim would be able to cleanse Lut Gholein, and – '

'Cain…' Oread's voice drifted from the bed; she had taken off her armour, and her light-cream undershirt was soaked with dark blood. 'Do we _really_ have to go through this now? We've only just returned from a stinking underground sewerage hole.'

Cain took a small startled step back, after a moment of shocked silent. 'You're right.' He wiped his brow with the back of his hands. 'I beg your pardon.'

Knocks echoed through the wooden door, snapping all of our attention towards it. Falcon opened it, and Atma peered inside. 'I'm sorry to interrupt.'

'Oh, no. You're doing us a favour, after all.' Oread turned towards the wall. Atma was carrying various medical items in a tray and had said that she would tend to her, but the underlying insult of Oread's words were missed by none.

'It is I that should be thanking you.' Atma beamed, her face suddenly looking ten years younger, her youthful beauty shining through the lines of stress around her eyes.

'I shall take my leave, now.' Cain said while turning towards the door, the tone of almost-childish disappointment prominent in his voice.

'We'll come to you later, Master Cain.' I said hurriedly; I did not want my master to be on bad terms with Cain – however much she was acting against my will – for I was beginning to think that maybe he was worth travelling with after all. Insufferable as his talkativeness may be, he _had_ seen three times more winters than I have… or perhaps four. 'Let us know if you have news.' Cain nodded at me and smiled before closing the door softly behind him.

'I want to thank you all again for avenging my family.' Atma said, a little shakily, as she shifted Oread's shirt aside to reveal a deep gap in her flesh, where Andariel had pierced and almost killed her not long ago. 'I'll negotiate with the townsfolk and see if you can get better prices around here, especially with Lysander. His antidote potions are quite dear, and I'm sure you'll need to stock up quite a bit on them.'

'And I need to thank you back for saving me from Fara – ' She was cut off when Atma doused her wounds with spirits, trying to bite back the moan and uttered a pained hiss through her teeth instead. She breathed deeply and continued. '...who would have killed me, bring me back and kill me again if she knew about this.'

'You're probably right about that.' Falcon said in a sure voice; the reminder of her imprudence at Fara's made me cringe a little. 'She said something along those lines when Celadon and I went to her.'

'Come now,' Atma smiled again as she threaded a needle with well-practiced, swift hands. 'Fara might seem like a tough woman, but she had been helping to watch over this town for years, ever since she left the Zakarum. She is one of unforgiving words, but she has a tender heart for what is good and of the light.' The needle sank into Oread's shoulder, and she hissed again. 'I'm sorry; are you sure that you don't want any pain-dulling drugs?'

'I'll bear it.' Oread replied, a thin sheen of sweat coating her forehead. 'I don't want to be numb for the rest of the night and wake up tomorrow morning with a headache.'

'Are you planning to head out _tomorrow_, master?' I asked incredulously. Oread might have veered a little from being suicidal, but she sure was still masochistic. 'You're in no condition to do so!'

'No, Celadon; don't treat me like I'm suicidal or something.' I was stunned by the way she took the words out of my brain. 'I just wanted to practice my skills, and perhaps try to learn some new ones. That book that you took from Radament's chest – well, Akara had shown me a similar one, before I killed Blood Raven –' She stopped and uttered a dull grunt against the pain, 'this book is commonly known as a "Book of Skill", and it should contain insights from mages about mana control. Usually, as we gain experience from battles and practice, we learn how to control our mana through experiments and trial-and-error, more or less; but this book has the details all written down, and it saves us the problem of trying it out ourselves if we can comprehend the words.'

'Wow, that's really cool!' Falcon's voice seemed to leap into my ears, and I cringed again, now highly-conscious of the now-sleeping folks around town. 'Can I read it tonight?'

'Sure, why not.' Oread seemed to be bearing the pain better now, as Atma finished suturing her shoulder wound together, and cut the thread. 'If Celadon doesn't mind; I'm not in the mood, anyway.'

'Of course I don't.' I said as Falcon looked at me, her childish eyes seeking approval. I got to my feet. 'Master Oread, I'll stay in the inn tonight. You… won't set out without us tomorrow, will you?'

'I'll go and find you first. For 'sakes, Celadon… Kashya's constant nagging must have rubbed off on you.' I was startled by her humour; how could she do that with a needle being pulled through her flesh every second? 'You're my mercenary, after all.'

I was slightly embarrassed by her comment regarding Captain Kashya, but a smile seeped through and took over. 'Good night, Master Oread.'

'I'll see you both in the morning.' Oread managed a grin through her clenched jaws.

Falcon and I stepped outside; I shivered when a cold draught swept through my hair, still wet from the recent shower. Falcon, however, took a deep breath in and smiled.

'The air of the land is returning to the sea.' She stated. 'You know, I can't wait to get this place back in order, so that we can set sail.'

'The ocean…' I voiced, and then looked up to her; the moon was full tonight, and Falcon seemed to glow with the vitality of the bright moonlight. Her deep-azure eyes now looked a dark royal-blue. When she seemed not to have heard me, I went on. 'You said before that the ocean called to you. Is it still calling now?'

'Celadon, _she _is always calling.' She replied absent-mindedly, half-marvelling the shadows that the scarce clouds veiling the moon had cast upon the ground. 'In fact, she's crying. The river is no longer in agony after we had cleansed the Sewers of Radament; but the ocean… she's crying for her pain, and for the deaths and corruptions that happened in her. And the land… she cries with her, too; so does the air.' She looked at me, and I noticed that her eyes had acquired a never-before-seen sorrow. 'The sisters of the earth, they're all crying. Chaos is not their way.'

We remained silent after that, indulging in our own emotions. After a few minutes, perhaps, I asked her what had been on my mind ever since we entered Radament's lair. 'Are you afraid of death, Falcon?'

'You never really die, you know.' She replied after a moment. 'You remain in parts of the earth; parts of you live on throughout thousands of lives… and then there's your spirit.' She sighed, turned on her heels and started walking towards the inn. I followed. 'I believe that if you love something enough, your spirit will stay with it forever, bond to it as a part of its being.' She paused for a few seconds, and then continued after her words had established themselves. 'As for death… well, as long as it's for some good, I guess I'm not too fussed. My being here on earth as who I am now is only a free trip, anyway. Let whatever owns me take me in the end; as long as I am where I ought to be, all is well.'

We got to the inn in no time with Falcon's fast pace; but then, I noticed faint footsteps. It came from outside the Palace.

'Falcon, you go on ahead.' I said, handing her the Book of Skill.

'Where are you heading off to?'

'I think someone's at the Palace.' I decided to tell her the truth; there was no harm in doing so. 'I think it's Jerhyn. I just want to talk to him.'

Falcon looked at me, and then she smiled. 'Apologise for Oread's conduct, is that what you're doing?'

'… I suppose.'

'All right, have a good night then.'

After her footsteps diminished into the wooden interior of the inn, I walked a few blocks down the stone path, lit by only a few torches. As I drew closer to the Palace, the dim torches struggled to illuminate the darkness – inside of the Palace was pitch-black. No light could penetrate the walls of the royal monument.

Sitting on the steps was Jerhyn, clad in his noble outfit, but with a thick cloak around him at such chilly hours. He was gazing into the night sky, starless with the blinding luminesce of the full moon. His deep-blue eyes were perfect mirrors of the serene sky, as sheer as still water.

I stopped about ten feet away from him. 'I bid you good night, Prince Jerhyn.'

As soft as I tried to tune my voice to be, Jerhyn jumped. He looked at me, his eyes lost for a moment, before relaxing in the relief of meeting with a benevolent acquaintance at such hours. 'Celadon,' he smiled politely. 'Please, do not address me as a royalty. What is a lady like you doing on the streets of Lut Gholein at such depths of the night?'

'I came to apologise for the conduct of my master.' That was not the real reason – I just came because I was curious about him, but this was a great excuse, thanks to Falcon's candid wit. 'I'm afraid that we have yet to introduce ourselves properly. I am Celadon, a Rogue of Westmarch, and am a mercenary of my master, Oread, an Amazon from the southern lands. Then there is Falcon –'

'There is no need for such formality, Celadon; Falcon has introduced herself quite well upon our first meeting.' Jerhyn replied, as he got to his feet. 'And you need apologise to no-one. Lut Gholein owes you three a favour for the slaying of Radament. Aside from killing our battle-worthy men, he had diseased our river and killed many that were young, old or weak. For saving us from these horrors we thank you.'

His sincere words made me speechless. I felt colour flare into my cheeks. 'You're… you're very welcome…' My voice came with difficulty, which was not to my liking. 'Pri… um, Jerhyn.'

'The night is maliciously cold.' Jerhyn took a few steps towards me. 'Perhaps you should get some rest. You should be exhausted after your recent battle.'

I shook my head softly. 'I noticed your presence as I was making my way to the inn, and was wondering why a Prince should remain outside on the streets, alone and unguarded at such hours.' I hugged my own cloak closer around me. 'On such a starless night, surely star-gazing is not the reason.' I smiled, attempting to lighten up the mood.

Jerhyn regarded my expression for a second; then he sighed. 'The moon is merciless.' He said, turning and looked up again. 'It blinds the stars and reveals the nightscape of one's mind. I was thinking, as I do every night in the dark; but light has invaded the privacy of this night.' He looked back at me; his eyes, the colour of midnight, reflected my own golden orbs. I caught the metaphor in his words – or perhaps I was just paranoid and over-analytic – and shuddered a little. My hand went to my neck automatically, seeking out the comfort brought about by my mother's relic. At the same time, my cloak opened up with a gust of wind, and the hilt of the short sword in my other hand glinted in the pale moonlight.

'And what may this be?' Jerhyn asked with genuine curiosity, and I was glad for the change; but after a split second, his eyes met mine, and I saw unmistakeable fear and vigilance leap into his eyes.

'No, don't misunderstand me.' I said quickly, my feet instinctively carrying me back a few steps and I threw up my other hand as a gesture of submission. 'I brought my gear to Fara's for repair, and she refused this sword after a quick inspection, announcing that there was no damage inflicted upon the weapon, and that I could easily clean it myself.'

Jerhyn still looked defensive, as he took a few slow steps and held out a hand. I held out the sword, hilt-first. He visibly relaxed and took it from my hand, before drawing it halfway and softly thumbed the blade. 'This is a well-made weapon.' He commented, now impressed. 'Rather bland, but a very practical design.' He re-sheathed it, and handed it back to me. 'Do the Rogues possess such skills? I thought their expertise lied in the bow.'

'No, this belonged to my master.'

We eventually sat down upon the stairs leading into the palace, conversing mostly about weapons, tactics and the practices of different peoples. When I spoke of my master's skills, Jerhyn's face developed a thoughtful expression.

'I thought the Amazons practiced the spear, the javelin and the bow, as well as enchantment through divine intervention.' He commented. 'I did not know that they had traditions of black magic.'

'Well, Master Oread denied it when I said she had used such skills, but I was _sure_ that she was the castor.'

'Who can know for sure?' Jerhyn asked rhetorically. 'She might have learnt it off another culture, by some means that no-one can be sure of. In any case, she doesn't _look_ like a typicality of her kind.' He grinned and chuckled softly. 'I was quite shocked myself, when I first met her. Her hostility was highly unexpected; Amazons that had previously crossed these lands were fierce, passionate warriors, proudly independent yet friendly to most.' He turned to me. 'Though I'm not a scholar at any rate, and the Amazons are a people of rich culture. In all, anyone who can do anything to help rid this land of evil is welcome in my city.' He got to his feet. 'You must get some rest, Celadon. From what your company has proven to me, we will have to rely on you a lot in the upcoming days.'

Perhaps it was later than I thought when I finally went to sleep; I woke up to Falcon's morning call, to find her fully-dressed and accompanied by the gigantic black wolf, Soleil.

'Wake up, sleepy.' Her voice rang painfully into my barely-hearing ears. 'It's been nearly two hours since dawn and you're still in bed!'

'All right! I'm awake!' I sat up, rubbing my unfocused eyes and thinking that she was even worse than Captain Kashya at wake-up calls. 'Have you met up with Oread already?' I asked as I ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to smooth out the bumps.

'Yes, indeed. I _have_.' She said, pouting and setting her hands upon her hips. 'You have five minutes to get ready if you don't want to be late meeting her at the training grounds. I wouldn't think she'll be in a particularly good mood; Greiz offered her the training grounds when she returned the scythe, and she thought she'd better take the offer, seeing the desert monsters have already woken up and all.' She strode to the door, opened it, and stepped out. Soleil followed her. I was about to get out of bed when she poked her head back in. 'So hurry up. I'll see you there.' The door closed.

When I got to the training grounds, I was sure that I was late. Falcon was standing with her complete battalion of wild minions, and Oread was standing with her back to the wall, slowly rotating her new spear in one hand. This spear had a larger, curved-edged blade made of a dark-golden metal, and looked heavier and sturdier. Her other hand was tucked between her back and the wall.

'I'm so sorry!' I panted from the long sprint as I stood before Oread, whose face was expressionless. 'I slept in.'

'Falcon told me.' Oread replied, her voice perfectly neutral. 'I have something for you. I know this is early, but it's close enough; you'll do with a bit of extra damage in your attacks.'

'Wha…?' I uttered, completely lost, as Oread moved her hand from behind her. In it was a bow – the one that she took from Radament's lair, I believed – that was slightly shorter than the long bow I had, but thicker and looked more sturdy. I took it from her hand, and folded my left hand around the body. On the inside just above where I gripped, about the same level where I would rest my arrow, was a small socket, and a yellow stone was set into it.

I moved the bow closer to my eyes for a closer look. The rectangular topaz was not very impressively-cut, but there was no flaw as far as I could see – though I was no expert on the quality of gemstones. I then remembered that this was gathered from the Andariel's chamber.

'Topaz is associated with the element of lightning, or so Cain told me.' Oread went on as I stood speechlessly, admiring my new weapon. 'You have limited skills on arrows, so if this works, it should add some significant damage to them.'

'Master Oread!' I finally found my voice. 'Surely the topaz would have gone to better use… This bow is a powerful one; _you_ should wield it!'

'I have more tricks at my disposal when it comes to the bow and arrow.' Oread said calmly; I noticed that Falcon was smiling. 'This bow and the topaz inside it are yours. Think of this as a gift.' Her icy expression finally broke with a bright smile – well, for Oread, anyway – 'It's almost two months since I took you as my mercenary. You'd said, when I first met you, that you were turning seventeen in two months' time.'

I finally understood. I myself had forgotten about it. How Oread managed to remember such a small detail was beyond me. 'Thank you… Master Oread.' I finally articulated the words.

'Happy seventeenth year, Celadon!' Falcon hopped towards me, and when she was right in front of me, I noticed that something was missing. That thing soon appeared in her open palm – it was her long necklace, with the fang-like pendant. 'This is the tooth of my father's spirit bear, and the present he gave me when I came of age as a Druid.'

'You have a point, Falcon.' Oread commented. 'She _has _come of age, in a sense.' She walked up to me, 'Celadon,' her hands landed firmly on shoulders; her eyes connected squarely with mine, the extraordinarily-coloured orbs seeming to pierce my own. 'You're a worthy mercenary. Don't tell yourself otherwise.'


	20. Chapter 17: Day Without Dawn

Alas! My muse has whacked my head in all the wrong places… now I've got the end of the story all planned out, and not the current parts. Damn!

Uh… Maybe it's the science vibe getting to me; when I wrote about the Horadric cube I felt like I was explaining the concept of space-time, then about chemical reactions ("one element plus another element forms a compound with its own unique set of properties, often quite different to the original reactants…"), and after that I wondered about the lost mass during the Horadric Cube's transmutations, which leads to nuclear fusion… and where has the energy gone? O.O

Okay okay, no more rants. Anyways, thanks again to the reviewers! Nice to see you back, Borg… or rather, Arcanus Deus Necros. Also special thanks to Icy Mike Molson for keeping me amused with a certain character of his. :D. And Phreno, we should (try to) stop visualising puppet shows as we write our work and read one another's works… it's kinda strange. Hysterically hilarious, but strange. ;P

Sorry for this pretty cruddy chapter and bypassing most of the second quest… I wouldn't call it a bad case of writer's block but it's more like… it's not the most interesting quest to write, and probably not very exciting to read about. It's tediously long and boring, I thought. That and Beetleburst was one of the most annoying monsters to battle, despite being very… pretty... --Hugs Beetleburst-- --Is electrocuted-- Eep.

**Disclaimer: **_Diablo _series – Blizzard's. I own the characters… and a bit of plot. I shall go weep now.

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**Chapter 17: Day Without Dawn**

"…All that," Falcon grumbled allowed herself to fall through the portal and onto the paved, stone ground. She continued after ripping the red hawk helm off her head, "for a crooked staff. That was _not_ worth it."

"And this little cube." The sun-baked stone on my back, with the armour cutting into my joints was not in the least bit comfortable, but it was better than staying up. I held up the small box that fitted snugly in my hands to block the sun from my direct vision, and the sun's rays glinted off the golden reliefs on the surface. "Master Oread, are you all right?"

"I'm holding together, if that's what you mean." Oread's voice grunted from the same ground level. "That was the most, _most_ tedious errand I've ever had to go through…" She trailed off, and I heard a very soft mumble. "Damn Cain and his Horadric-obsessions."

In any other case I would have been outraged by her blasphemous words, but now, I was too exhausted to care or fuss over Oread's manners.

"So that was two down, one to go." Falcon muttered between her slow but deep breaths. "I can't move a finger."

"Neither." Oread replied. "What say we just lie here and wait for someone to take pity on us–"

"Ah, you're back!"

I was only a little startled, but that was enough for my sluggish fingers to let go. "Master Cain…" I cried just as the cube landed onto my forehead, adding to my heat- and injury- induced pounding headache. Groaning softly, I raised my right hand to shield my eyes. The sun had never felt so hot on my skin, and my armour really was not helping.

"Get lost." Oread spat. "We got your precious brick and stick, so leave us alone."

"Well, when you have recovered from your recent expedition, come and seek my counsel." His voice was surprisingly calm, as his soft footsteps diminished into the noise of the distant crowd from the marketplace.

"That was unexpectedly easy." Falcon commented.

Then we were all quiet for a few minutes, too exhausted to do otherwise.

"So…" It turned out to be Oread who finally destroyed the peace; "should we get going soon?"

"We're going straight to the inn, right?" Falcon asked, sounding assertive and perhaps a little worried. "We've been up and battling non-stop since yesterday morning."

"I say we give Fara a brief visit if we want a decent night's sleep without our bodies protesting too much; and I couldn't exactly help the fact that a huge sandstorm was above ground. We all agreed that we didn't want to camp underground amongst a horde of monsters, dead or alive." Oread retorted. Her armour shifted as she sat up slowly, winced, and sighed. "Shall we go?"

"If you say so." I replied, though I really did not want to get up. With a grunt, I reluctantly got to my feet, momentarily seeing grey stars in my vision.

"You need to get a drink before you go to sleep, Celadon." Falcon commented dully as she scooped up the cube on the ground. "I'll take this for now; 's'at fine with you?"

"Sure, you can take the staff from me too if you want; then Cain can just bother you instead of all of us." Oread joked humourlessly as my head pounded again and my ears rang. I lowered my head into my hand, closing my eyes in attempt to steady myself as I staggered a little. A strong hand took me by the upper arm. "Are you all right?" Oread asked.

"I'm fine, Master Oread." I relied drearily. "Thank you."

"Just don't pass out or anything; I'm not carrying you." Oread began to walk off with a heavy limp, using her spear as support. I dragged my feet after her, wanting nothing more than a shower and a nice, long slumber. "And by the way," Oread's voice drifted sluggishly towards my ears, which were already half-asleep. I looked up to the back of her bowed head. "Save the whole 'master' thing from now on; every time you say it, it'll remind me of Cain."

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I awoke the next day to the dull throbbing of my head, and was annoyed to find that it was still dark. I had moved to Elzix's inn, and the large window in my room faced east. Back in Westmarch, I had slept until near-noon several times, with the skies dimmed and time lost in the even, stormy-grey that covered the sky and cloaked the land. Such was not the case in Lut Gholein. I had gotten used to rising with the sun, and waking up at such an odd time irritated me.

I got dressed – being mindful to wrap my thickest cloak around me – and decided to see if Falcon was awake – she always woke just before sunrise. My window looked directly towards the dock, but Falcon was nowhere in sight. I opened the door to go out and find her; as I did, I let out a small yelp and jumped back at the sight of the black, moving bundle, before my eyes adjusted and I realised that it was a raven – the female one, a little larger than the male, with shinier feathers. "Good morning, Aether." She gave a happy call, and shook one of her wings. "You gave me a scare there; where's Falcon?"

Aether gave a soft call and set flight. I followed her down the stairs, and eventually arrived at the training grounds. Aether called happily again, and swooped towards Falcon, who got up from the ground and allowed her to land on her shoulder.

"Good morning, Celadon." Falcon greeted me as she stroked Aether softly. Aether preened a little before she took off again, flying towards Nimbus overhead. "Had a good night's rest?"

"Yes, very." I returned her greeting with a smile. "What are you doing here at this time?"

"Oh, I just tried to call a spirit, that's all." Falcon's grin disappeared.

"No luck?"

She shook her head. "I guess I'm really just not spiritual enough. I just haven't got such a connection with the metaphysical spirits of nature."

"You'll get there sometime." I attempted to cheer her up a little. "I mean, a few Druids had crossed my homeland, and they were all quite a bit older than you are. It might sound strange, coming from someone younger than you are, but you're really still very young for a Druid warrior; and I think you're pretty accomplished at such age."

"Hmm." Falcon voiced a sigh, and then the smile reappeared. I was glad. "I guess you're right. I still have a while." She assumed her usual wide-grinned expression again. "Well, anyway, before this, I'd decided to give Cain a _very_ early wake-up call."

"You… did?" I got a little annoyed inside; was Oread rubbing off on her?

"Yep!" She nodded energetically; how could she have recovered from exhaustion so quickly? "Well, I had nothing else to do, really, and he didn't mind."

"What did he say?"

"_A lot_." She spoke the words slowly, suggesting the actual length of Cain's speech. "Well, basically, this cube can manipulate space and time, and fuse several items together, even if they might seem totally unrelated, and create a new item, with its own unique properties. Look, I'll show you." She fished three sapphires out of her pocket, which were quite small and obviously flawed. She pressed a small button on the cube, one I had missed before, hidden by the intricate gold-woven patterns, and the cube opened up as the sides disassembled themselves. The sides laid flat in a cross-like formation, as a semi-sphere of golden light filled the space that was once contained within the cube.

Falcon placed the three gems in the golden glow, and they hovered there. The glow then became brighter, swallowing up the sapphires, before shrinking back into the inside of the cube as the sides reassembled. The cube snapped back together and the glow went out.

"Now what?" I asked. That was very spectacular, but I still did not understand.

"Look in here." Falcon pressed the same button again and the top side sprang up. I looked into the cube, and saw nothing but black swirling with the closest shade of grey. "Reach in and see what you get."

Slightly hesitant, I reached in, and was surprised as I could not feel the sides of the cube, no matter how far I spread my fingers; but as I drew them back together they closed around a small, hard object. I took my hand out and opened it. Lying in my hand was a larger sapphire, its flaws hardly visible to my eyes.

"Wow." I uttered. Maybe the trip yesterday _was_ worth it, after all.

"Yeah, that's what I said, too." Falcon grinned and snapped the top side of the cube back on. "Cain tried to explain how it works, but I guess I zoned out on that part."

I returned the sapphire to her. "So what does it have to do with whatever he asked us to do before? Some staff and amulet?"

"Yeah, this is what we have to use to smoosh the other two things together, apparently. He said he's deciphered a little bit more of the scroll, and he mentioned something about someone called Tal Rasha… I don't know. The only part I really picked up on was that we have to get the last artefact." Falcon jerked her head a little, throwing back one of her pigtails. "Meh. I guess we can always ask him about it later, once we've gotten that far."

"Well, I'm not in the mood now." I still remembered the mess that we made yesterday, of the desert, of the Halls of the Dead, of the maggots, and of ourselves. I pressed lightly onto my chest, and found that my ribs still ached a little, despite Fara having restored most of the damage.

"Are you still feeling sick from that beetle monster's lightning attacks?"

"Yeah…" I rubbed my temples, now that I was conscious of the headache again. "I'm sure you haven't recovered all that quickly either, Falcon. That was a nasty blow that green-looking monster back in the Halls gave you."

"This?" Falcon took off the glove on her right hand, revealing the once-broken wrist that was tightly bound by several layers of bandages. "I'm only glad that I _had_ blocked it, you know. She would've crushed my helm straight through my skull otherwise."

"Hey, thanks for escaping without me." Another voice. I turned and saw Oread, walking unusually slowly, probably as an attempt to hide her limp. It was not as bad as it was yesterday, but it seemed we were all yet to recover from the previous days.

"Good morning, Oread." Falcon gave a small wave.

"'Escaping', Master Oread?" I was genuinely confused.

"I said no more 'master'-ing, Celadon." I suddenly remembered, and felt a little embarrassed. "I walked into Cain on the way and he bombarded me with spittle, that's what I meant." She sighed and put her hands onto her hips. "What's more, I ran into Drognan afterwards."

"Drognan?"

"Yeah, a mage that kinda hides away in the backstreets who owns a little shop. When he spoke he didn't seem like the Cain-type of people, and he had a serious look on him." Oread lifted her head towards the sky and cracked her neck, and then kept her eyes fixed upon the dark sky. "Rightfully so, too."

"So I was right after all." Falcon looked up as she voiced softly, a little fearful, perhaps. "The land has been cheated into thinking that day has not yet arrived. It should be late morning, by my estimation."

"It's not just an eclipse or anything that's happened before." Oread continued. "The sun refuses to rise. This is happening to the whole of the Sanctuary. Night-dwelling foes are coming out."

"Well, is there anything that can be done?" I asked, uncertainly.

"Drognan knows more about this." Oread returned her eyes to my level, and smoothed her bangs back with a hand. "Since we're still recovering from yesterday, I guess we can't set out until tomorrow at the earliest." Her hand reached the back of her head, and the bangs fell back to their original position. "We have to notify the town of this, and tell Greiz especially to have his men guard the town more closely."

So we spoke to Drognan. He was a soft-spoken man of few words, which we were all glad about. He looked about fifty years of age, but his eyes were spirited and his posture was strong. He told us of the legend of the Claw Vipers, beyond the parts of the desert where travellers dared to explore.

The Claw Vipers, according to Drognan, was once a clan of reptilian chimeras belonging to neither the kingdoms of men nor the forces of Heaven or Hell. They were merely a group that existed on their own, secretly living in the heart of the desert.

Then the power of Diablo seeped throughout the land as he was awakened. Even before Diablo emerged from the chambers beneath Tristram, his evil had gone to work amongst the clan of chimeras. They began to change, and as darkness took over them, they retreated to their sacred temple and corrupted the place. They killed those that refused to convert, and dumped their corpses in their former city, where the ones who retained their sanity also died. This grudge that they bore raised them as undead creatures, and they still stood to guard their former city, now no more than rubble and ruins.

As for those that remained in the temple, mutation took place as Diablo rose. They became monsters of extreme bloodlust. Their skin became paler and thinner, until they were transparent, and the creatures were of the colour of arterial blood. They were now known as the clan of the Claw Vipers, which worshipped the occult, and practiced dark magic.

Drognan believed that the darkness of the land was of their doing; their power had grown since Diablo's rebirth. They would only be able to emerge in darkness – the sunlight would be lethal to them. So in order to spread their forces, they darkened the land by engulfing the sun in their dark magic.

"So I ask you to seek out the Claw Vipers, and stop their practices." Drognan concluded.

"This sounds like a better task than the last one, at least." Falcon was swinging her legs back and forth, looking somewhat excited and restless. "We're not in search of anything, are we? We're just out to kick some viper behinds?"

"Oh, cleanse the Claw Viper Temple is what I'm sending you out to do, young Druidess." Drognan smiled kindly. "Though you might find treasure on the way; one can only wonder at the things that the Claw Vipers would have hidden away throughout all those hundreds of years of seclusion."

"Right." Oread said slowly. She looked thoughtful, but after a few seconds she broke her concentration and sped up her words. "What time is it now, Drognan?"

"Should be about noon." I was shocked, and judging from Dorgan's amused expression, so were Oread and Falcon. "Oread, when I met you on your way it was already late morning. Your previous errand must have exhausted you."

"But I didn't see anyone in their shops on the way." I mentioned.

"They must have remained inside in fear of an eclipse; they were a bad omen," Drognan sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. "Though this is much more than they fear. An eclipse would pass; this won't until you pursue the evil it brings to its origin, and uproot it."

"All right." Oread was thoughtful again, and she nodded slowly while fixing her eyes on her hands upon her lap. "We'll give ourselves some time to recover, and then we'll set out as soon as possible."

"My best wishes go with you, noble outlanders."

We walked out, and agreed that we should pay a visit to Fara. On the way there, few words were exchanged. The longest sentence was probably Oread's "At least there's no Horadric business involved".

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"That's incredible of you, Celadon." Jerhyn said as a gust of desert wind swept across the empty streets, he hugged his cloak closer around himself. "I must say; I'm in awe from what your company has been able to accomplish."

"You're too kind." I replied, shivering from the chill; for three days' time, the sun had not appeared. The dormant heat of the desert had awakened, and then it had died, leaving the dead corpse of the earth cold and still.

"You're setting out tomorrow to seek the resolution of this phenomenon, no?"

"We are; Drognan had directed us to the Claw Viper Temple, beyond the lost ruins of the desert." I sighed. "I wonder how long it'll be until we find a way to rid this land of evil's hold; it just seems like all these problems from the sideline are coming before us to delay us upon our path."

"I'm sure everything will work out in the end." Jerhyn smiled. I tried to return it, but I was nervous for the battles that I would encounter tomorrow. We were setting out in a few hours' time, when the sun was meant to rise. If this was going to be anything tougher than the Halls of the Dead and the underground lairs of the maggots, and everything in between, it was going to be a hard journey.

Dread seeped over my insides. "Thanks for your company tonight, Jerhyn. I must take my leave now. Long days are ahead of us."

Jerhyn picked up on the inadvertent irony and chuckled. I finally found the strength to smile. He put a hand on my head and scuffed my hair playfully. I cringed in feigned annoyance. "You have all of my good will, Celadon. May you return safely."

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"I think we're lost." Falcon spoke tentatively as Oread led the way, the tip of her arrow illuminated by the dancing embers of a potential explosion. "It's funny; you'd think that with the sun gone like this, all the stars would be out. I don't see a _thing_ ahead."

"Nah, we're getting close." Oread mumbled absent-mindedly, her eyes locked on some invisible distance. Even with Inner Sight I thought we might be lost – there were no landmarks in this vast area of ruins, all eroded almost to nothing by abrasive desert winds.

Suddenly, Oread lifted her bow and let her arrow fly. It hit something with a _bang _followed by a _voomp_, the noise of the burning drowning out the groan of the victim as it fell. "See?"

"Now I do."

It was a corpse that the arrow took down, much like the zombies we encountered back in the sewers; however, this corpse had a long tail instead of legs, and its skull was large with a long snout, bearing decayed and eroded fangs that were once sharp.

"We're here, then." I said. My mind's eye widened and blinked, and I jumped to my feet to release three arrows. I shot two cold ones and a fire arrow, but lightning cracked over all three of them. They all hit, the lightning crackling, before the two hit by fire erupted into flames.

"Nice shot." Falcon said after a whistle. In the other direction, the wolves and ravens were tearing two corpses apart, while Lava was feeding on the corpse of the one felled by Oread's arrow. Rainbow was nowhere to be seen, but judging by the moan that I heard from the darkness, it had gone to work on another enemy.

Oread used Inner Sight, and my own Inner Sight allowed me to see her aura humming, before bursting out and illuminating a radius of darkness around her. From behind me, Falcon focused her energy and worked up gusts of wind, before directing them into orbit around her body – such was a new skill that she had practiced and favoured ever since her mastery of it.

"We'll take care of it here, Falcon." I let my arrows lodged themselves into a few more victims. "You just let your minions do the work."

"My _allies_." Falcon corrected, with a certain degree of irritation.

"Sorry." We moved forward a few tens of feet, before stopping again to fire. "My goodness! How many corpses did the Claw Vipers throw out?"

"Right, that's enough." Oread's aura pulsed, and she let loose perhaps twenty arrows in a row. By the end of it she was gasping for breath, but the arrows, self-guided by the corrupted energies of the monsters, did their jobs very efficiently in the dark.

I was surprised by the outburst. Oread had mentioned before how exhausting that skill was, and I kept my silence as she unplugged a bottle and drained it. Her aura flared again.

"That's not fair." Falcon commented in the silence. "Is this it?"

"No," I answered. A strong energy was aglow in my mind – one of the colour of pale sick-green. "There was an elder amongst those executed by the Claw Vipers." Drognan had said this to me the day after he had told us the story of the Claw Vipers. "I'm sure this is him right here."

"Brilliant." Oread groaned as she readied her spear. "I'm getting bored."

"You think _you're _bored?" Falcon stepped up, and grabbed Oread's spear below the blade. Oread spun around to face her with an annoyed look. Falcon's expression held. "Let me handle this one. He's a bearer of plagues. Surely a spear is not the best weapon for this foe."

The figure neared and uttered a deep groan, before breaking out into a bolt towards us. How the flesh managed to stay on it was beyond my ability to understand. As it neared, the vile, pungent stench of decay bombarded me. I backed away. From beside me, Oread did the same.

"I couldn't do this in the Halls of the Dead, because there were levels. The maggoty hole's ground was too sticky and gross. Let's see how it works here." Falcon's aura winked, and seeped from her hand into the ground. As the golden-orange disappeared into the depths of the earth, beyond the vision of my mind, Falcon gave a great, long shout.

At about ten feet before Falcon, the corpse fell into the ground, which had opened up with a deep, sharp rumble. Sand slid into the crack, bringing the corpse with it. From the short distance, I could feel the heat and pressure of the earth beneath being released as a tremendous energy, threatening to swallow up our enemy.

The corpse held on, however; and as the crack in the ground was about to close it in, it jumped out, ripping its leg off its hip and left it sticking out of the earth that had closed around it. Falcon shrieked as the corpse laid a hand on her shoulder. There was a sound of sliding metal, as Falcon unsheathed a two-feet long knife from her belt, almost dropped it, and sliced at the corpse. The blade entered at the shoulder towards the centre of the torso, before it got stuck.

Falcon shrieked again as the corpse bellowed. She pulled out the knife after two violent tugs, ripping out some dried, blackened flesh. Both hands of the corpse closed around Falcon's shoulders, and this time Falcon screamed.

Oread's arrow was mid-flight when Falcon hacked at the corpse again, taking out another huge chunk of flesh before cutting it in half diagonally. She leapt back as Oread's arrow whisked past her face, dropping her knife in the process.

"Um… nice work, Falcon." Oread's tone was wavering between approval and disapproval, and I totally understood why it was so – Falcon's skills with the knife were graceless.

We spent another hour or so wandering in the darkness – probably in circles – before we found a small path amongst the ruins. This path led to a small area, walled out by a low pile of stone blocks, and was – to our surprise – devoid of any monsters.

Standing before us was a regular monument a few storeys tall, built in large slabs of faded sandstone. On each side a reptilian relief jutted out above us, their jaws opened, revealing the fangs, whose sharpness was shielded from erosion by the large upper jaws.

A small entrance was set in the centre, on the ground between the guarding reptilian statues. The air was still now, seeming to prophesise the release of tension that awaited us in the imminent future.

"The Claw Viper Temple." Oread announced in a clear, loud voice. "Finally."


	21. Chapter 18: Conflicts

Sorry about how long this update has taken. My muse has been a little… out-of-performance from too much textbook-reading and information-absorption.

Thanks, yet again, to all my reviewers. I understand that not all people are regular reviewers, but any comment is much appreciated. No, really, if you write you'd understand what I mean. Not only does it make the author feel good :D, but it helps them improve. In particular, I want to thank InnerFire for a certain spark of idea, Elise for returning with her insanely long reviews, and Phreno, who is the best reviewer (and also one of the best D2 'fic authors) ever!

So, it seems like this battle has been much anticipated! Let's hope that I do all right… tell me off by all means if it's cruddy and if so I'll re-vamp.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Diablo, I would make Cain die from dehydration through overuse of saliva through speech! That or he'd choke on his own saliva… so, obviously I don't own it.

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**Chapter 18: Conflicts**

My first sense that the Claw Viper Temple appealed to was smell – the scent of cold stone tainted by old blood, like the smell that rust leaves on your hands. The air was calm, but not completely still; there were slight movements in the air that was not abrupt enough to signal danger, yet not gentle enough to go unnoticed.

A humming in my head, and the temple was set alight in my mind, though the area over which my Inner Sight acted appeared a lot smaller.

"They wield powerful magic here." Falcon whispered, terror and anxiety embedded in her words. Somewhere in front of me, a wolf whined and a raven's wings stopped flapping.

A reddish glow filled the surrounding area as fire burned at the tip of Oread's arrow. The temple was carved out of sandstone, the thin joints and faults in the rocks filled in with sand. Intricate runes were carved into the walls, recording the practices of ancient magic with their foreign shapes.

While I was admiring the runes, a wolf yelped and growled. Within a split second the battle ended, and another one began. As Falcon's wolves and ravens tore into another foe, we all backed into the wall beside the entrance, and inspected the fight from a distance.

"I didn't see that." I was surprised; I did not sense the arrival of the reptilian chimera, its skin grey and shiny, and its overgrown vertebrae jutting out into spikes along its back. It was about as tall as Oread when it stretched out to its full height in an attempt to throw off the wolves clinging onto it, but its reptilian tail was even longer, tapering into a sharp, tough bone-like point at the tip. Its large, muscular hand slapped at the wolves, and while a raven buried its beak into the monster's unseeing, slit-like white eyes, it opened its jaws and let out a shrill hiss, revealing large, dripping fangs as shiny and dark as precious obsidian.

The animals finished with the monster, and returned to Falcon for some praise and reassurance. "This temple is tainted with the corrupted magic of this clan." Falcon explained matter-of-factly, as if the knowledge was instinctive. "The air is full of it."

"Well, we'll just have to fight harder, then." Oread's aura humming and sparked in my mind. As she focused, the surroundings became clearer in my own mind, and our foes were rendered a little more visible.

Oread and I began a volley of arrows, but ours enemies were moving a lot faster than their fallen soldier. "That one probably stumbled into us by accident." I said in between the whines of my bow's string as I sent arrows flying. Falcon's animals had joined the battle as our Fire Arrows provided her some light, and they hindered the monsters a little bit, but they were advancing.

I dropped my bow as fire slid off the smooth skin of a blood-red reptilian monster, and pulled out the sword to fend off the whip-like tail. By the time I had killed the Salamander – they were the "Claw Vipers" that Drognan spoke of, before he realised later that Claw Vipers were grey, but their more advanced evolved form is red and known locally as "Salamanders" – an enemy not unlike the Sand Raiders that we faced in the Sewers were before me, and I bumped into Falcon as I backed away quickly, barely evading the blade.

Falcon tossed me aside almost immediately after I made contact with her. She charged up her Cyclone Armour. The blade descended upon her and made a sharp ring with her elemental shield. Falcon was about to draw her blade, but I had gone ahead of her and slain the monster with my sword. Falcon smiled at me quickly before turning her head to the side. "Oread, Celadon's lost her bow. Can you cover us for a few seconds?"

Oread tucked away her bow and whipped out her spear. "How long?" She yelled back as dying hisses filled the air followed by the smell of blood as she sliced at several foes with her new, broader-bladed spear.

"Ten seconds." Falcon's minions – no, _allies_ – dissolved into formless energy to rejoin their conjurer's body as Falcon put out her hands, her palms facing outward towards the swarm of enemies. Above us, the ceiling rumbled. "I can't exactly crack the ground here, there's a level beneath still waiting for us." She remarked as the pieces of rocks and grains of sand were attracted to her hands, and swirled inwards to the centre of her palms, glowing brighter as they gathered momentum and collided in the processes of adding to the growing sphere of molten rocks.

"You have five more seconds, Falcon." Oread announced as she amputated a Salamander's sting, which had barely buried itself into her chest before it was detached from its owner. She blocked the two strikes from the dying monster, and speared it through the skull. She grunted as she yanked out the sting. "Hurry up!"

In the meanwhile, the diameter of the molten ball of rock had grown to two feet. "Almost there!" Falcon shouted as the ceiling crumbled. The large slabs of stone melted in mid-fall and the glow spiralled into the boulder. Oread's defence was not flawless, and I had fended off a few enemies with my blade. Within the remaining seconds, the diameter reached four feet. "All right! All clear!" She launched the boulder off. It was burning more furiously than the ones that she had created before, and as it bowled over monsters, it also left explosive and flaming lava in its tracks. The surviving foes were greatly slowed by this, and I took the chance to reclaim my bow and resume firing.

The level was vast, and our advance was slow because of the immense number of opponents; but the boulder had given us a significant area of ground. Oread and I took on the offence as Falcon recovered and sent her allies to join the battle.

"Why didn't you just make the whole ceiling fall and flatten them all, Falcon?" Oread asked.

"Because," Falcon sounded a little annoyed – probably not at Oread, but at the amount of monsters we were facing. "You wouldn't like to have to dig through rubble to get to the bottom level, would you?"

"I suppose not." Oread sent a few Guided Arrows flying, pinpointing more distant enemies for Rainbow the vine to infect. At the same time, Falcon unsheathed her knife to defend herself – yet again, gracelessly – against an advancing Claw Viper. "At any rate, you could do with some practice with that blade."

"What do you mean by that?" _Now_ Falcon was angry at Oread. She vented her anger on the Claw Viper, stabbing it repeatedly before bring the blade down between the eyes, crushing the skull and turning the Viper's head into a bloody mass of flesh and bone.

"_That_ was what I meant." Oread opted for her spear yet again to clear a radius of ground around her. "You're getting better already."

Falcon just said "hmph" and went a few steps forward to mutilate another Claw Viper, who seemed to be somewhat stunned by its cohort's gruesome fate.

It seemed that as we went on, we fought faster and faster. The fear that I contained when I first entered the temple had disappeared, and I was just fighting, remorselessly taking the lives of those who had slaughtered and killed in the past.

When the level had been cleared of the reptilian monsters, it was almost unbelievable.

Falcon and Oread fell to the ground from exhaustion while I stood there, the exhilaration and adrenalin rush from the battle still boiling within me. We were standing before some stairs that led down into unknown darkness, and I looked into the void, wanting more.

"Take a moment to have a break, Celadon. Don't stand there and look like a hungry carnivore."

I did not register at first, but a split second later it sank in. At that moment, Oread's casual comment hit me like a slap across the face. I dropped down onto the ground, remorse overpowering excitement, my energy level plunging lower and lower at a sickening rate. I put my bow down and ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the congealed gore on my hands tangling with the blood-slick strands. "I'm sorry… What was I thinking…?" I mumbled.

Had I found joy in taking lives? Snow Raven – such was her name before she was corrupted and took on the title of Blood Raven, for her raven-black hair and lily-white skin that were unusual amongst Rogues – had a childhood history of slaughtering the animals for celebrations; apparently, she took it on not because of the fact that no-one wanted to do it, but because she enjoyed it.

Was I growing into a bloodthirsty, single-minded killer?

"It's okay." Oread seemed to have heard my words, which I thought were inaudible. I lifted my head to look at her. She was not looking at me, however; her eyes were directed at the empty bottle of potion at her hand. She was adjusting it so that the glass catches the glint of the small fires burning the corpses. "Just stay cool and don't let this get to your head. Last thing we need is for you to throw yourself senselessly into a battle."

Her tone was cool and solid, and the words calmed me a little. I hugged myself tighter to steady my thoughts and shivered a bit. Falcon walked up to me and crouched down before me. "You're all right, yeah?" She beamed. I smiled back. Falcon had that ability to make people think, even for a second, that everything would be all right, just as her smile assured.

I uncorked a bottle of potion and drained it, feeling my body's wild rhythm settle gradually into equilibrium.

"You ready to go, Falcon? Celadon?" Asked Oread, as she adjusted her armour a little and fingered the string of her bow.

"Yeah, let's finish this off." Falcon got up and offered me a hand. I took and stood beside my companions. Dusk nosed my shoulder and tucked his head under my arm as I settled my hand on his ear. The turbulent emotions calmed. Animals had such a miraculous way of doing that.

For the next hour or so as we ventured through the level filled with danger, my mind was surprisingly relaxed. There was still the strong, fierce will of survival that drove me to killing my foes, but my mind was under control. I was in touch with what I was doing, and I knew that it could not be enjoyed, lest I wanted to become like one of those that fell under my assault, but it had to be done.

When I caught the pale blue out of the corner of my eye, I knew that this was a test to keep myself from panicking, keeping my head in charge and not my guts. This was a strong monster, a leader of the reptilian chimeras that had flourished underground all these years, the bearer of all the grudge and hatred that brewed within this temple by dark magic.

Oread shouted out the order to eliminate the others before fighting the leader, which Falcon accepted enthusiastically as she pierced two skeletons in a line through their skulls, before shattering them with a close-quarter blast of chill. Her joy was short-lived, however, as something crashed into her armour of orbiting particles. The armour absorbed most of the damage, but Falcon had been knocked to the ground, and Oread had to hurriedly deflect a Salamander's attack intended for Falcon with an arrow for her to get to her feet in time for the ongoing battle.

"This one uses bolts of lightning." I stated. "He seems to be resistant to lightning as well."

"Great." Oread grumbled. From what I had experienced from battling huge beetles in the desert, she really hated lightning-enchanted enemies. The main reason, I think, is that they would most likely be resistant to the element too, and that would render her favourite skill of the skill, Charged Strike, useless. "We'll have to do it from a distance, then."

"I'm not dead yet, you pitiful humans!" The monster actually _spoke _with its hissing voice. "You've slaughtered my people and destroyed the legacy of the Claw Vipers. I won't let you escape from me!"

Oread looked as if she was going to say something, but then her lips grew thin as she closed her mouth and fired a few Ice Arrows at the monster, slowing him down in his tracks. "Celadon, stay back and just keep firing at him!"

The bluish Claw Viper recovered quickly from the chill, and he slithered closer with every chance he had, letting loose bolts of crackling electricity as he did so. Oread used Slow Missiles a few times, but something – the same thing that blinded my Inner Sight – was weakening the skill, and she concentrated on her offensive skills from then on.

Falcon had recalled her minions after failing to keep up with the damages that they were sustaining. She was standing on the sideline, recovering from exhaustion of mana when the reptilian monster received an Exploding Arrow in the chest. It cried, and slithered away into the darkness ahead quickly.

"Oh no, don't you run off after doing _that_ to my allies!" Falcon unsheathed her blade and went after the monster before anyone could halt her. A few spark of lightning was seen and heard, followed by Falcon's cry. Oread and I ran up to see Falcon on the ground, knocked out, and the leader of the slain clan was quickly slithering away, leaving a bloody track as blood poured out of its back, Falcon's knife still embedded in it.

The creature was pitiful, but Oread fired another two Exploding Arrows at it. It cried out, and I jerked my head towards Oread.

What emotions my glance had betrayed me I could not tell, but Oread just glared at me for a second, then back at the writhing blue shape, now curling itself around a small stone pedestal. "Give up and I'll grant you a quick death."

Upon the pedestal was a small amulet, seemingly made out of stone or bone, encased within a half-sphere of hazy, silver-greyish energy. The once-pompous and proud reptilian chimera was gasping with its damaged and blood-filled lungs, violet blood dripping from between its fangs. "I'll bring this down with me, you foul-blooded bitch."

Lightning began to crackle, so bright that I could barely keep my eyes open. In an instant I was struck several times, my body numbed and my head burning as I was thrown towards the wall behind me. I regain my senses after a few seconds; within a few feet of me, Falcon was still lying unconscious. My gaze moved further onto Oread, now evading the cracked tentacles of lightning with amazing agility, as her Slow Missiles skill seemed to have finally worked, even just a little. The lightning seemed to be a bit slower as they came within two feet of her, and she managed to dodge most of them. She was struck a few times, on the legs and arms and once in the side, but she forced herself on.

Our dying foe stared at her angrily with its unseeing eyes, and when my body had stopped disobeying my brain's orders, I got to my feet and fired arrow after arrow, attempting to give my master a bit of cover. Pain bubbled in my chest and stomach, but I fought it back. I tried to use Inner Sight again, and this time it had worked a little better – the magic around us seemed to be weakening. Oread tossed a look at me, and I found approval in it. She took out her spear, and as she leapt to avoid another bolt she used it to vault herself higher off the ground.

As Oread descended, her spear before her, her cry mingled with that of her enemy's. In my mind, the monster's energy glowed furiously, and I knew that I _had _to do something more than shooting arrows from a distance.

I ripped the sword out of its sheath, and ran up to the two. Recalling the way my mana flows while I use the Cold Arrow, I charged the blade with all the mana that I could summon in the short period of time, and buried it into the side of the monster –

Too late; Oread had already killed it, speared it through the chest, and thus unleashed the explosive mana that it had been brewing within its body. The chill had lessened the damage, but the force blew both Oread and me off. I hit the wall hard; there was a sharp _crack _and something warm and salty burst inside me.

As my mind plummeted into blackness, I was praying hard that the pedestal had not received too much of the impact, that the small barrier of energy had shielded the amulet from harm. Whatever this clan of chimeras had been guarding, that little amulet was important. Here was much more than just a corrupted people; in their darkness, the amulet stood out as a small, holy light.

But for now, neither my mind nor my eyes could see any longer.


	22. Chapter 18 and a half: Bird Eye View

Many thanks to the diligent reviewers! Remind me to smack myself in the face if I try to justify for any cruddiness while replying your reviews; readers' reactions are all that matters and if they get things wrong, it's because of my own incompetence (apart from alternative spelling, that is; may I remind you, we Australians use Empirical spelling here). A welcome back to Dromiceius, my first ever reviewer, and a big welcome to Jamie! Unfortunately you're anonymous and haven't left an address, so I can't reply you – I'm sure everyone who's reviewed before got a reply for every single one of their reviews. I love tormenting reviewers with my somewhat delirious replies…

My muse is happy now; I've always loved and hated Act II – loved the Arcane Sanctuary, hated Duriel and the ginormous Horadric quests. So I'm glad that the quest is over and the Arcane Sanctuary is almost here:D

Whoa, rant galore.

Another half-chapter – with a difference, that is. The format might take a little getting used to, but I'm sure you'll figure it out.

**Disclaimer: **This could be one of the few chapters that I own a bit more of… but I don't own Diablo, or its NPCs. I own their manipulated and mutated forms, though! I also am not the owner of the sunrise philosophy that you'll be reading; I've merely translated it.

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**Chapter 18.5: Bird-Eye View**

Ow ow owwwwww. This hurts. My left arm's hurting like something crazy. So's the rest of my body, but the arm is worst.

I try to lift it so I can inspect it; my muscles quiver but my arm isn't budging. I feel for the elbow and the shoulder with my right hand. Yep, I've dislocated my arm in two places. Probably fractured it at several points, too.

Trying not to cry out – the echo would hang awfully in the air – I replace the joints back into their sockets. Damn that kills… I've uttered a little moan despite my shame, and now I'm left panting to the stillness of the temple, sweat breaking out from my forehead.

Stillness…

I listen for any sounds; my own quickened breathing from the pain, and another erratic one. Two sets of breathing.

_Shit_.

I jump to my feet as a wave of pain shoots through my nerves; from the electric shock that thing gave me, probably. I shamefully grunt softly again, and look around. There are chunks and pieces of greyish squishy-looking fleshy stuff melting on the floor, as well as hunks of bone and violet-coloured masses that I think are guts. Every slab of previously-light-coloured sandstone that I can see is spotted with violet, if not completed with fleshy bits stuck to or sliding off them slowly. The liquid running off is stained a light purple.

Oread's lying on her back at some twenty feet away, but to the other side of my vision, Celadon is huddled in a heap between the floor and the wall. No sound from the latter.

I get up on my unwilling legs, and prayed to the spirits that Celadon isn't what I think she is… she's bleeding freely from a nasty gash in the back of her head; probably from crashing into the wall somehow, and quite a few grazes and cuts all over. I better not move her… I feel for a pulse in her neck with hands cold from fear, and a sigh escapes from me. Good. I found it.

She's not dead, yet she's not breathing… blocked airways?

I gotta act quickly. I take off my gloves and shove my hands into her mouth, feeling for any obstructions. Down her throat as far as I can, nothing. There must be blood and stuff blocking her windpipe – I've had experience of such a case, when my cousin got gored by a beast that was "grazing calmly"… nasty business.

If I can control the movement of charged particles in my skills, maybe I can control the air in her lungs… I put my hands on her upper chest below her neck, ignoring the pain in my newly-assembled arm, and gently allow my energy to flow through to the girl. There's one small point where my energy doesn't flow through. That's where the block is.

Concentrate on the space just below that point… heat up the air so that it expands and pushes out the blockage. More energy; strong, quick, but refined. I don't want to accidentally kill her.

A moan from the girl, and a serious of rash coughs; congealed blood the colour of bruises flies out of her mouth, splashes onto my face, and runs down her chin, neck and chest, over my hands. I fall back onto the floor as she takes in a few breaths harshly and quickly, and then her breathing stabilised. Shallow, but stabilised.

Phew. Now _I'm _out of breath.

I stagger over to Oread; the Amazon seems to have been in an equally bad position with Celadon – if not worse – when whatever happened to the monster took place – judging by the wide-scale damage, I'm deciding on a case of explosion. She has shrapnel and small puncture wounds over her, as well as two compound fractures, one in her collarbone, the other in her leg.

I have to act quickly. I open up a portal from a scroll I collected earlier, and marvel at the blue glow for a few seconds before I realise how stupid I'm being. Cursing myself, I go back to collect my companions, before something stops me in my stride –

Upon the pedestal that the monster went off before to guard with its dying body, the semi-sphere of energy has disappeared, revealing a small pendant in a stylised shape of a viper's triangular head, its fangs bared, and eyes in small slits. The fangs, as well as the overgrown spikes that protrudes from the viper's skull, are made of an ivory material… bone? The rest of the head is made of a dense light-silver metal… platinum? And in its jaws it holds a large diamond, so meticulously- and precisely-cut, that it reflects even the faint fire that's feeding off what remains of the corpses.

But I know I shan't marvel any longer. Pocketing the pendant and mustering my remaining spiritual energy, I ask for Dusk, Nimbus and Aether to come aid me, and they do. I ask for Dawn, too, but the exchange isn't adequate on my behalf, so these three will have to do.

I lay Oread onto Dusk, and heave Celadon onto my back, wincing a little from the pain in my left arm's joints. Nimbus and Aether ask what I want them to do, and I send Nimbus out to alert Fara. Off he goes. Aether agrees to stay here in case something hasn't been done right and something returns.

As quickly as I can manage, Dusk and I proceed onto Fara's place. I'm not sorry for leaving this temple; Oread and Celadon may want to come back later to collect anything they've dropped, but my knife's been blown into shards, and I've seen just a little too much unfamiliarly-scary things in this place, the greatest of them all being Celadon.

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Sure enough, as Drognan promised, the sun returned to its regular routine. The townsfolk don't even know what happened – Drognan says that it's better to keep it quiet, just so that the people don't freak.

Fara and Atma both know, though, and they're both very grateful for it. I'm feeling a little scared of Fara now, seeing as we always end up at her doorstep all messed up, and she'd have to heal us after her long hard day at her smithy. I'd intended to bring Celadon and Oread to her, and run off after that to avoid having to tell her how we got into such a mess, but I just _had_ to faint at that moment.

Such incompetence, Falcon!

Not only that; even back at the temple I've left my comrades behind by falling unconscious at the last moment, and I'm really annoyed at myself for it. It's like spending hours and hours stalking a prey, and watching it run away after realising that your feet can't move because you've gotten frostbites from inadequate gear and standing in the snow for too long.

"_Patience, Falcon. You need to be patient."_

"_But we're so close! If we'd only run a little faster…"_

"_You don't succeed by being speedy at the last minute, Falcon. A successful hunt is the fruit of hours of careful stalking, and staying calm even when you're getting close. A beast can sense a Druid's raising energy from a mile away."_

The little girl's disbelieving snort, and his deep-throated laugh.

"_And you, Falcon, your energy is particularly fierce. Such a bright energy it is! You have to stay extra calm."_

I didn't take his advice. Not until years later, when it happened, when reality struck and I finally realised just how right he was. I was a brat then, I can't be the same as I was before. You've gotta stay calm, Falcon. Keep your cool.

You can't allow your impatience to take another life.

"_Damn, it's so cold… Why do you like watching the sunrise in such weather?"_

"_Because when you're facing the sun, Falcon, all your shadows fall behind you."_

Yeah… I sure am glad to see the sun rise again.

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It's been a week since we've returned from the Temple, and both Oread and Celadon have been brought back to the inn, rather than staying at Fara's. Celadon woke up only yesterday. Fara's demanded me not to let them go onto any errands until all of us have fully recovered.

Yeah, right… I hope she won't do it, but if Oread wants to go, there's no stopping her.

It's strange; I feel like I still don't know her all that well after the times the three of us have spent together since when we first met in the desert. She's certainly capable of caring – she's saved me back in the Sewers, and from the way she talks to Celadon, she cares about that child more than anyone...

That Amazon is certainly not of a pure bloodline. I'm not sure about her hair colour or her built, but her eyes… those double-coloured eyes, dark brown at the bottom, progressing into a bright, deep green at the top. I remember hearing something about that being a trait of a group living in the colder regions of the southwest…

Oh well, I'll figure it out eventually.

Other than her indifference under normal conditions and occasional suicidal tendencies, Oread isn't a bad person to follow. I guess that's why Celadon's so loyal to her; but then again, the girl is young and inexperienced. She probably has no idea as to what she's fighting most of the time. The girl's naïve yet determined quality is probably what allows her to hang around such a master for all this time. She looks up to Oread, I suppose. Not that I can't understand why.

On top of that, she gets along with pretty much anyone. She can manage to talk to Lysander without getting frustrated, and even talks to Elzix courteously… if it were me, I'd order Nimbus or Aether to eat his one remaining eye out if he dares to gawk at me one more time.

Of course, the girl gets along with some people better than others. Atma really likes her, but I'm thinking about Jerhyn here.

That prince has come to see her every afternoon and every night after we returned. He'd just sit there and watch Celadon, motionless in unconsciousness. Not that I blame him, though; Celadon's kept him company every night ever since she got acquainted with him. I'd look out the window and there they'd be, sitting side-by-side, sometimes just sitting and possibly chatting quietly, sometimes talking with great animated enthusiasm.

The prince _has_ been looking a bit less uptight lately. Not long ago I found out that he actually knows how to smiles with his teeth showing.

Tonight, I've gone to get some food from Atma's and the markets – I really can't stand Elzix – and am bringing it up to Oread and Celadon. I open Oread's door, and the room's… empty?

I try Celadon's room, and there they all are – Celadon sitting up in bed, Oread in a chair, Jerhyn sitting on the edge of Celadon's bed and… _Cain_!

"Hey Falcon!" Oread greets me first. "I've tried to find you… weren't you going to get some dinner?"

"I was at the marketplace." I reply a little shakily. Oread raises an eyebrow and a cheekily pensive look came to her for a split second, then she seems to have understood and keeps quiet. "Hello, Prince Jerhyn, Master Cain."

"Glad to see that you're looking fine, young Druidess." Cain replies. I know he's really being polite, but I really hate the way he calls he that. I'm just a _Druid_, for goodness' sake. "I've gone to Jerhyn since your return from the Claw Viper Temple. The small pendant you found, Falcon, Drognan and I have discovered that it's actually the missing headpiece of the Horadric Staff!"

There he goes again; him and his "Horadric" this, "Horadric" that… does that word even _mean_ anything? "The Horadric Staff is the key to the tomb of Tal Rasha! If you discover the secrets of Tal Rasha's tomb, Drognan believes that Lut Gholein may be saved, and it may also hold some keys to the Dark Lords!"

"Well… what do we do about it, then?" I put the bag of food down, and toss Celadon an apple – I noticed that the girl was eyeing the package ever since she noticed it when I first got in.

"The way to Tal Rasha's tomb might be beneath my palace." Jerhyn speaks up now. I prefer his voice to Cain's. "The great wizard Horazon was one of Lut Gholein's elder once, and he resided in the depths of the palace during his practices. He disappeared one night, and since then, corruption began." His gaze shifts, but I keep my eyes on him. "First it was subtle things – people within the palace. The top levels became a harem, but that's nothing compared to what followed. My family…" He trails off, but no-one speaks; everyone's waiting for him to continue.

Eventually he does. "The reason why I'm the only remainder of the royalties is because everyone else was killed."

I'm shocked; by their looks, so are Cain and Oread. Celadon shifts a little closer to him on the bed. "One day, eight years ago, the monsters just spewed forth." He's speaking much quicker now, with less control. "Horazon's chamber was at the bottom level, and no-one was to enter it. My family's quarters were just above that, and the monsters came and slaughtered us – unhuman things, unseen in the deserts ever since the first fall of Diablo. I escaped with my late sister." He bows his head, and Celadon stops chewing on her apple to put her hand on his shoulder. Jerhyn smiles a little.

There is _definitely _something there.

"We think that Horazon must have somehow connected the palace to somewhere where evil lurks." His eyes have grown defiant and angry, replacing the fear. "If Tal Rasha's tomb is as close as Drognan says, then why haven't we found it yet? We've spend _years_ scouting through the desert and found nothing." He clasps his hands together. "This is why we all think that the palace is somewhere worth investigating. Won't you help us?"

We're quiet for a few seconds, and then Oread sighs. "Well, we're here, so we might as well check out everything. If we don't take care of this, we can't move forward." Her eyelids lift, and she looks at me and Celadon, back and forth a few times. "What do you think?"

"You have my word, Prince Jerhyn." I exclaim, feeling a grin grow onto my face – I probably look incredibly naïve like this, but I really can't help it.

"Young Druidess Falcon, you've lost your weapon in battle, I heard."

Cain! He just _has _to ruin my mood. My face forms itself into a pout, but I'm feeling more than I'm expressing at the moment. If he annoys me one more time, I swear I'll –

"As a member of the Druids skilled with polearms, you'll be the perfect person to wield it."

..._ What_?

The Horadric Cube and the Staff of Kings – or as my company calls them, the Brick and the Stick – are standing upon the small table in the corner. Cain opens the Cube, and puts the Staff into the spherical light. Then he took out the pendant from his pocket, the one that I had given to him to examine a few days ago, and drops it into the light as well.

Then he closes the box. After the light has died down and the box fully closed, he looks up to me. "Now, come here, and see what you can get out."

I reach in, feeling the limitless void. My hands move about and most of my arm has disappeared into the box before I feel something: a smooth cylinder, which my hand fits around perfectly and comfortably. I run my hand along it, and can't feel an end.

"Pull it out, Falcon." Oread says with a sort of obscured excitement.

I grip the rod-shaped form tightly, and pull out my hand. It was a new staff – a whole six feet long, with a sturdy wooden shaft the colour of burnt fertile soil. At its head is a spiked and twisted design made of the platinum-like metal with the sparkling diamond set into the centre of it, while the ivory material forms fine, decorative tendrils weaving down from the top about one foot down the shaft. I look a little closer, and see small runes engraved shallowly all the way down the wooden shaft. The end is also capped with the platinum-like material, with the same wounding ivory design.

"May I present you," Cain announces. "The Horadric Staff."


	23. Chapter 19: Beyond the Facade of Bravura

YAY ARCANE SANCTUARY:D Best place in all of the Diablo II Universe!

People seem to like the Falcon PoV… much gratitude goes to all my reviewers! Especially to InnerFire's surprise review, Phreno's crazily long and hysterical review, and Elise's sadistic review… O.O

I've thought up the beginning of this chapter for a while now; and in case you get confused, it's kind of at a point in the future where someone (yes, someone; I made sure that from the language it can be perceived as any of the three so-far-introduced main characters speaking) has a kind of reflection… just a bit of foreshadowing, that's all.

And sorry for the long period of being on hiatus; there were just too many quizzes and assignments and exams on at around the same time. I'm hoping to get this Act done in another maybe two chapters. There might be major changes to the landscapes… don't mind me.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Blizzard or _Diablo_, I wouldn't be doing this for free…

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**Chapter 19: Beyond the Façade of Bravura**

"Hang in there! You're gonna make it…"

What a joke.

It was never meant to be like this. Never expected to turn out this way… So much death, blood, carnage, malice, horror, chaos, and most of all, loss…

Oh… who am I kidding? This shattered world is a battlefield, after all.

On the battlefield, there is nothing expected, and nothing unexpected.

For a warrior, in the end, whilst standing amongst the silence of the deceased, there is nothing gained, and nothing left to be lost.

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My goodness, how much had Jerhyn's young eyes seen from this place?

We were one level down from the glorious exterior of the Palace, and already the stench of corruption was prominent, seeming to seeping through the very cracks in the walls. This must be the Harem – cushions and sheets were carelessly strewn about the place. We were here, in this very place that marked the fall of the hierarchy of Lut Gholein, the fall of the morals of humanity.

I could only reminisce so much because of the strange safety around me - the small, open level was empty and devoid of monsters. We proceeded down one level down, and the danger – and excitement – began there.

Pools of blood greeted my eyes – _fresh_ blood. The bright crimson and the pure smell of metal identified the blood as that of humans'. It both relieved and terrified me, to think that there were still living people down here.

"So the blood that stains the river is not only from the Sewers." Falcon stated from beside me. She had a serious look upon her face – one that promised tension and anticipated horror ahead.

Just then, there was a piercing scream that rang through the air, followed by beastly grunts expressing… pleasure? A few more moans, and there were sounds of ripping and snapping. The gods only knew what happened, but our imagination had effectively made their own connections. Both Oread and Falcon's energy flared, and we all broke out into a run towards the direction of the scream.

We ran straight into a crowd of monsters – four-armed swordsmen, huge humanoid hulks, as well as other foreign monsters; and missile-wielding skeletons. I hate those.

Oread's energy shimmered, and she dodged the incoming missiles while returning a few shots of her own. She was annoyed, I realised – there was really no need to be wasting Exploding Arrows on skeletons, but she did, anyway.

While Oread took care of the ranged monsters, I was focusing on the less agile, but more power-packed hulks. They took quite a few arrows, but once I began to use some elemental attacks, they went down more easily. I stole a look to Falcon, and what I saw really impressed me.

She was wielding the Staff very proficiently – she did not simply bring it down upon her opponents' skulls; she used it to vault herself off the ground to avoid attacks, and she swung it around her with one hand sometimes. I was amazed at the speed at which she could twirl the Staff, as well as the power that she channelled through it. Her range was great, and with her allies, she seemed the most comfortable one of the three of us to fight in such a cramped and dark space.

In the meanwhile, Oread had dropped back beside me. I looked up, and took down one last monster, right between the eyes. The arrow was still aflame when it exited through the back of the beast, and splattered the wall with blood and brains as it was lodged into the wall behind it.

That was when we realised how quickly we had advanced through and cleared this level. Blood ran from the brains nailed to the wall by the arrow, and down the wall, running around a pair of bloody iron cuffs nailed to the wall, and our eyes moved with the trails of blood to what was lying on the floor –

The light from the burning arrow illuminated the scene of horror: where the walls met the floor laid a dismembered body. From the relatively small extent at which the innards were strewn, one could tell that it was probably the body of a young woman.

I looked around me; bodies were littered everywhere, but there were bloody cuffs at irregular intervals, and beneath all of them were similarly-sized bodies, all were mutilated beyond human appearance.

Even the Rogue Monastery was nothing compared to this. There was so much blood, so much violence written in the very air of this now-silence room.

"Let's go and stop this from happening again." Oread sounded _really_ annoyed now.

Suddenly we heard clanging noises. Oread whipped around, violent sparks dancing on the tip of her arrow.

It was the most charged-up Exploding Arrow I had seen from her; it illuminated the dark corner. Oread's temper might have blinded her, but thank goodness that… before I saw it with my eyes, my mind already knew what it was.

"Oread, don't!" I leapt forward and shoved Oread's left arm as she let go, and the arrow flew off-course, and landed into the floor. There, sitting right next to the quickly-disintegrating arrow, was a young girl. Her body was naked, thin from starvation, bloody and bruised from torture. Her hands were in the metal cuffs above her small body, and as she raised her eyes to us, the look was so sunken and hollow, that for a moment I thought she must have been an undead.

"You're all right…" I ran over to her, and hugged her close – I had not freed her from her bondage, but I had to do _something_ to cover her up.

Falcon walked over and bent down, as a ruffle of black feathers landed upon her shoulder. Nimbus brought his head lower, and a set of keys was between his beaks. Falcon quickly unlocked the cuffs, and the girl threw her arms around me, sobbing into my chest.

"Shh… You're safe now. It's all right." I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

There was a magical hum behind me, which I recognised as the sound of a Town Portal opening. "Falcon, Celadon, you two take her back." Oread's tone was dark and deep, bordering on murderous.

"What about you, Oread?" Falcon responded quickly. "Don't tell me you're going to – "

"I'm going to give those murderers a taste of their own medicine." Oread's tone told me that she was barely holding herself together. "No-one trashes a girl like this."

I have knowledge of the structure of her tribe – the Amazons belong to a matriarchal society, where women were no less than men. I understood her fury, but I was not ready to let her do whatever her impulse drove her to do.

"If you don't want to waste time, I'll stay here with you. Falcon can take her back." I suggested, and threw Oread a stern glance, to boot. "I'm staying with you." I reinforced, as Falcon freed me from the girl's gripping fingers and held her close to herself.

"Let's head off, then." Somewhat surprisingly, Oread accepted without protest. "Falcon, make sure she's okay before you come after us, all right?"

"Of course." Falcon smiled, despite of the situation; probably glad to hear the tone of deep concern in Oread's voice. Without another word (though she _did_ take a split second to marvel at the Portal before she stepped through), she and the girl returned to Lut Gholein.

Oread and I proceeded onto our quest to cleanse the Palace – with more blood, ironically. There were levels of cellars beneath the Harem, and I was once again reminded of the Rogue Monastery. We "cleansed" _that _place with blood too, did we not?

We encountered many foes, and along the way, we slaughtered them all. I once again found that bloodlust welling up within me, and I was afraid, so I held back. Oread was driven by anger now, and I had the responsibility, as a mercenary, to watch her back and stop her from doing anything suicidal. I could not stop her from doing so if I, myself, was overpowered by my own desires.

We survived the first two levels of the cellars, but at the end of the second level we were worn out. Oread received a bone arrow through her side, and after she let loose her own arrow, killing her attacker, she collapsed. Luckily by then there was only one monster left, and, fighting to stay on my feet, I brandished my sword and hacked until the hulk lost his footing and fell, then I slashed through his throat, and stabbed through his heart for good measure. That done, I collapsed as well.

I had hoped that I would pass out, so that the pain could be delayed; no luck. "Celadon?"

"I'm here." I replied. Oread's voice was pained. "Are you okay?"

"That was what I was about to ask you. I gave you that large bottle of pink potion for a reason; drink it."

"But you said that was saved for – "

"Drink it. I have more." Oread cut me off, and I had no option but to obey.

The potion did not take long to work – soon my wounds stopped bleeding and the pain lessened. There was a warm sensation as tissues tried their best to pull themselves back together, and to be honest, our bodies could allow us to keep going.

But a warrior needs more than a recovered body to fight. As the two of us sat beside one another, facing the pile of bodies that we had accumulated on the ground, our minds fought hard to recover from the recent trauma.

"Damn… Falcon's taking her time." Oread grunted.

"I hope the girl's all right." I said.

"Yeah."

Silence.

"You've learnt to swordfight very well, Celadon; despite your moves being highly unorthodox, they seem to be rather effective."

"Thank you."

"And you've managed to keep yourself sane over the battle."

"Same goes for you." The words went out before my head could stop my mouth. I covered my mouth my hands, belatedly. "I'm sorry… that was terribly improper of me."

"No, no… you're right. I was a bit too impulsive back there."

Silence again. I tried to find something to say, but failed; so I took out my sword and began to wipe the blood off of it, and I found it.

"This sword is special, isn't it?"

"Huhn?"

I smiled at her rather weird exclamation. "I mean, it's a precious weapon; you didn't just randomly _find_ it, surely… even Charsi had complimented it, and she's seen a lot of weapons before."

"It came from my homeland." Oread's eyes moved to the ceiling.

"So you were trained as a swordswoman, as well? I didn't know that you possessed such skill."

"No…" Oread's voice drifted off into a soft, slightly-quivering tone. "It was my sister's."

"Your – "

"Are you ready to go now?" Oread got to her feet, and offered me a hand. I took it, and she practically yanked me to my feet, all the while looking towards the entrance to the staircase leading to the level below. "Let's get this over and done with as quickly as possible."

She walked ahead of me, and I wondered what her face looked like then. If only I could read her better… but then, nobody seemed to be able to read her very well.

The last cellar level was a lot smaller than what I had imagined; the narrow corridors around the central room were very narrow, but empty. Even though Oread and I had anticipated a lot of monsters, we did not expect _this_ many, and all of them were hulks.

"Celadon, get back!" Oread shouted as the monsters swamped out from the narrow doorway to the central chamber. Even though they were in single-file and there were no missiles flying this time, there were many of them – and they were tough.

The bow was inadequate for battle in such narrow places, so Oread whipped out her spear again. She could impale the monsters all right, but her movements and speed were restrained by the narrow surroundings. I helped quite a bit with my more manoeuvrable short sword, but we were losing ground quickly.

"If we back off all the way around the chamber, we'd be caught in the middle." I speculated as I hacked with the sword, bringing down another huge beast with Oread as we both aimed for the throat. "I think they're coming from the other side, too."

"It can't be helped now." Oread grunted as she shoved her spear through the body of the near-identical hulk behind the one that had just fallen. The monster howled and took a swing at Oread's face; she must have had her spear caught when it pierced through, barely dodged it, and the fist landed on her right shoulder.

There was a sickening _crack_; Oread cried and fell sideways into the wall beside her. Her hand did not let go, however, and it yanked the bloody spear out of the abdomen of the opponent as she did so. She dropped the spear as her arm went limp. Oread uttered a groan and panted as she fought back the scream welling up into her throat – I could see the tension from her heaving chest.

"Oread, I'll take the front from now on." I went and planted myself before her. "You try and recuperate while I hold them off a bit."

"There's not enough time." Oread gasped as she picked up her spear with her left hand. "I can hear them behind me. One of them – the one leading from the other side – is a strong one. Its energy is fierce."

She came back up beside me, and with her left arm, thrust the spear through my current foe's right eye. "Damn it all to hell." She cursed.

Suddenly there was a huge quake from the ground, and a deep rumble. Both of us were knocked off our feet, and Oread must have fallen on her injured shoulder, for there were a few soft cracking noises, and she screamed.

I took the monster's temporarily stunned state to my advantage and stabbed it in the lower torso several times. Blood dripped from its mouth, and it fell. I looked behind me, and the path behind us, on the other side of the entrance, the ground was split through the middle. Immediately in front of the stairwell entrance, especially, there was a huge hole in the ground, and steam spilt from it.

Several hulky monsters had fallen into the crevasse, and one of the survivors – the one with glowing blood-red eyes – glared angrily, as the eyes brightened.

There was a light-grey-and-brown blur; it came from the stairwell entrance, bounced off the opposite wall and landed beside Oread.

"Sorry I took so long." Falcon grinned as she leapt off Dawn; Soleil must be too big for this place.

"Nice timing, in any case." Oread replied as the two sibling-wolves began their carnage.

"My _Fissure_ actually worked this time." Falcon was evidently very pleased with herself. "Allow me to take care of fiery-eyes here, yeah?"

Turning around to face the strong leader of the hulks, she raised the Horadric Staff; the runes glowed pure white.

"Let's see how my new elemental summoning works in here." Falcon said slowly, her voice somewhat solemn. "Let's test out my _Twister_."

She gripped the Staff with both hands, and the very air of the chamber… ripped.


	24. Chapter 20: Twisted Enigma

As usual, first thing is for me to declare love to all my reviewers. Love you all!

Speaking of reviews… I am quite startled as well as impressed to find that FF dot Net has incorporated the use of formal language, as well as formal-sounding MECHANISMS! Why did it "profanity filter" my reviews::Frantically hurries to disable profanity filter:: Actually, I'm expecting flames a few chapters on…

As you may notice I'm a bit of a stickler when it comes to physics. I seem to be a little obsessed with entrails on walls lately… Some changes applied to the Arcane Sanctuary, pardon me; it's either as plot device or the result of my shortage in the memory department. And pardon the random humour… X-) The Arcane Sanctuary rocks like an artwork by M. C. Escher.

And I know I sound idiotic, but I've finally figured out how to use rulers on FF dot Net.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Blizzard or _Diablo_. I can dream, though.

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**  
Chapter 20: Twisted Enigma**

When I opened my eyes again, the chamber was a mess – flesh and blood and bone fragments were dripping down the walls, and the walls themselves were coming apart, as bits of stone continuously flaked off. Soon there was a rumble, and this time, it came from above.

"Falcon, I'm impressed, but I think you went a little overboard with that." Oread stated calmly as she got to her feet. "Let's head inside here, and see if there're anymore stairs, before this thing collapses and crush us to bits."

Even as she said that, a large piece of stone came loose from above. I uttered a yelp, and Falcon and I leapt to either side of it as it crashed into the floor between us. We got to the inner chamber, and one last beast dived at us. Oread readied her spear, then jabbed it clean through its head.

The hulk fell as I eyed Oread, my mouth fallen open involuntarily. "Wasn't your shoulder broken?"

"I had one of those huge pink potions. They've fixed it up all right." As if proving her point, Oread rotated her shoulder. The joints popped and cracked as she tested the newly-healed tendons and cartilages.

"But… weren't you out? I mean… why didn't you drink them before?"

"If you hadn't realised, while Falcon bought us time, I had a chance to go through the fallen." Oread brought the spear down at an arc, and the blood on the blade streaked the opposite wall with a dull _splat_. "Now, I don't see any stairs."

"Open a portal, then!" I had no idea how the other two could stay calm; Falcon had recalled her beasts and worked up her Cyclone Armour to deflect some of the fragments, but Oread was as defenceless as I was.

I decided that my master was still suicidal and could not care less; that was all there was.

"There's something here," Oread got to the centre of the small room – there was a small pedestal, and upon it was an obsidian tablet. We ran up to it, and Oread traced her fingers over the etching, muttering the incantations written upon it as she went.

"How can you read that?" Falcon asked as she peered over Oread's shoulder; another fragment came down from the ceiling and it was ripped apart by her cyclonic shield. "It's not even in –"

"It's an older language, one belonging to the ancient Sorcerers, whose descendents now reside in the cold south." Oread paused in the incantations and explained, quickly and monotonously, then continued. I did not think she realised it, but for a few moments as she recited, her aura shimmered with faint, icy-blue sparks.

Once the incantations were complete, the etchings on the tablet glowed a brilliant violet, and then both the tablet and pedestal… sublimated. A portal took their place, its oval ring of a circumference coloured by the same bright violet glow, fiery tendrils fading into white reached outwards; but the centre was pitch darkness – not the swirling silver-grey like the blue Town Portals, but an even, unfathomable black.

"Wow." Falcon, who had always found some kind of obsessive fascination in portals, was downright flabbergasted by this one.

Meanwhile, there was huge _boom_, and then came continuous individual rumbles that quickly grew more frequent, turning into a single, loud, persistent noise. "We've not got much time! Get in!"

"Ooh, the monster dropped a ruby –"

"GET IN!" Panic took full control; I grabbed Falcon from beside me by the back of her collar, and my shoulder rammed hard into my master's back, knocking her breath out as her exclamation at the gem was cut off.

Rather than first shoving Oread in then pulling Falcon in with me as I had planned, Oread was lighter than I had expected, and Falcon was heavier. Falcon crashed into me as my momentum bowled Oread over.

The three of us literally tumbled through the portal.

The momentum kept us rolling on, crashing into some legs as we went.

When we finally stopped, I was aching all over, and by the curses and complaints that the other two uttered, so were they.

"Oww, my butt hurts like crazy." Falcon moaned as she sat up, then her eyes widened as she brought up a hand. A magical hum, and soon there were sounds of yelps and ripping and tearing and… "_baa_"?

"This is the Arcane Sanctuary, it seems." Oread groaned as she got to her feet and readied her bow to help out the two sibling wolves, which were battling a group of scythe-wielding goat-like humanoid. I had seen something similar somewhere before… was that back at Westmarch? The memory seemed so distant and blurry.

I took a quick look around me, and my breath was taken away by the sight of the realm that I found myself in – I was standing on a smooth slab of greyish, marble-like stone without any joints or faults. My eyes followed the length of the five-feet-wide slab, and I realised that this array was suspended in space – all around me was an even darkness, illuminated unevenly by what could be distant stars and constellations.

The Arcane Sanctuary itself was lighted, seemingly by an unknown source. Everything was just illuminated very evenly, and as I looked down and about the floor, no shadows were cast. However, as perfect as the lighting was, everything beyond a radius around us – one of about fifty feet – faded into the darkness of the enveloping space. I cast Inner Sight to try and get a better view; the vision radius grew by perhaps another ten feet, but that was all.

This place is mysterious. Twisted. Dangerous.

The last sound of battle – in this space it projected well, but did not echo – ceased from behind me, just as more enemies came into view before my eyes. Oread and Falcon's wild allies joined the battle on this side, as Falcon watched on, standing beside me, quickly looking around her, taking in as much as possible and making her pigtails flick around wildly.

"This place is incredible!" … Well, at least _she_ was pleased with the situation. "My tribe back home would never believe this."

"Well, what do we do now?" I asked after Oread shot down one last foe, and the air grew silent again. "Where do we go?"

"I guess the only possible direction is forward." She replied. "It's not like we know what to do in here, or how we can fix things up in here; we'll just have to investigate this whole space, or as much of it as we can."

"What do you think will happen if we stepped off the edge?" Asked Falcon, perched on her hands and knees at end of the slab we were on, and curiously peering into the nothingness. As a reply to Falcon's queries, Oread wedged her foot underneath a fallen foe – a thin, zombie-like summoner – and with a kick sent it propelling off the edge of the slab. The corpse flew off into space, and within ten feet off the edge, had faded into the even darkness, the new source of black seeping between the white glows of the dusted stars.

Falcon gawked at the point where the corpse vanished, and I saw her swallow as Oread added casually, "I think that means we're not supposed to find out."

"But… isn't it limitless space out there?" Falcon blurted out, very quickly, and rather loudly. "What… so this is an illusion or something? We're actually tightly closed in by some twisted, elastic fabric of space?"

"Just stop thinking about it, Falcon. It'll make you senile."

We followed the long slab, fighting down some foes on the way. The monsters were mostly goat humanoids, and with all of us being able to attack from a distance, the thin slabs really worked to our advantage. We found some stairs which were really just thin horizontal slabs, and large breaks in our paths mitigated by small teleporting portals.

Things were going a lot better than we had expected, until we came across a particularly wide platform. Nothing the small holes upon the perfect surface, I identified traps.

We were just debating over whether to creep around them (from me), rip them all out somehow (from Falcon, my emphasis on the "somehow") or bolt through them (from Oread… as expected) when I noticed a shimmer out of the corner of my eye. Inner Sight did not illuminate anything, but I could see them with my naked eye –

A skeleton… well, _half _of a skeleton, with its horned skull, thin arms stretching to elongated fingers, and a ribcage that tapered down the long spine, the ancient bones were an uncanny bleached-white. The teeth were pointed and the jaws were set in an eternal grimace. Surrounding the half-skeleton was a smoky, bright blue aura. Unlike the many undead enemies that we have felled before, its eye sockets were hollow; there were no points were life force particularly accumulated.

From behind me, Falcon collapsed to her knees with a moan. Her two ravens dissipated and the loose energy seeped back into their host.

"What's the matter, Falcon?" I asked as Oread shot an arrow through the monster. It crumbled into dust and the remaining still-glowing energy spun off into the infinity overhead.

"I'm all right." Falcon replied, tremblingly getting to her feet.

"No, we're not." Oread replied, nocking another two arrows. I looked up and saw perhaps about ten of those ghost-like beings surrounding us.

Then there were scenes – visions, flashing in my head. The Rogue Monastery aflame… my mother shoving me into the chest of Kashya… we took off, leaving my mother and my oldest sister… what was her name? I could not remember…

Blood and smoke. Smells that burnt this memory deep within my mind.

These things were _toying _with my memories?

"Celadon, snap out of it!" Oread's strong hand shook me, and I regained my focus for a moment, long enough to fire at the ghost-demon, now glowing with a jade-green aura… was that _my _mana?

"Falcon, get up!" Oread commanded; Falcon retrieved her allies and fought, tearing through another demon close to her as she twirled the Horadric Staff double-handed. "These things… they reawaken memories to steal your mana while you're mentally weakened." Oread explained. "You'll just have to…" She tightened her brows and shot a flaming arrow through one. "… Get yourself together and kill them before they sap you of all your energy."

"Easy for you to say." Falcon pouted her childish pout, as she summoned Dawn and Dusk, who tore through the ghostly foe close to her.

"Aren't they attacking you, too?" I asked Oread, in a breathier voice than what I would have liked, after I succeeded in fighting back my memory and killed another one.

"Nothing that I haven't seen in my head hundreds of times already." She replied coolly. "And we've hit a dead-end."

"Oh, _brilliant_!" Falcon moaned as I, with the help of Inner Sight, managed to creep around the traps and opened the chest on the other side of the platform. "Well, at least we've found something…" She trailed off as she ran across the platform, narrowly missing a few of the spikes shooting up from the holes in the floor, and began to explore the chest.

"Your mood fluctuation is extreme." Oread commented with a sigh, remaining where she was. "It's gone up a few notches in a matter of seconds."

"Well, we've got a good load of loot here!" Falcon grinned cheerily as she held up a few imperfect stones. Oread sighed. My mind, however, was still troubled by the mental attacks that we had sustained. Some way to take down an enemy…

And Oread always seemed so troubled, so how come she could fight it back so well? I've heard that the Amazons practice skills where they communicate with the divine, but that was nothing of that realm; that was something that came from evil, from Hell. From the underworld. The fact that she could dismiss it the way she had, so easily, really surprised me.

We backtracked. We found the portal again; it was at a crossroad, and while deciding which way to go, we were again thrown into a three-way quarrel – it had been a very long day for all of us, but we had plenty of supplies, and we reached the consensus that we were not to return here again, so we did not return to town. The resulting impatience, irritability and instigative behaviour, however, meant that we would return to Lut Gholein as soon as… whatever needed to be sorted out here in the Arcane Sanctuary is sorted out.

"We should turn left, so that we can just keep turning left if we backtrack, and we won't get lost." Such was my argument.

"But isn't left bad luck? Why don't we go right instead?" Falcon's temper was getting shorter…

… And so was mine. "I was just giving an example!"

"Then why don't you want to take the route on the right?" Falcon's spiritual energy must have fluctuated as her voice was raised, for Dusk whined and backed off a little, and Dawn's hair stood on its ends.

"Why don't we just go straight?" Oread was getting annoyed with us. In retrospect I realised that it was extremely childish, but I was fired up then.

"Because!" Falcon and I both shouted.

Oread cocked an eyebrow at us. "Who knows how long you two will argue for… at this rate all the monsters here will probably detect us and come kill us, and you two won't even know what's happened." She fished a gold coin out of her pocket. "Okay, heads or tails?"

"Heads!" The two of us shouted. We jerked our heads towards one another, our eyes met, and held.

"Heads for left, tails for right." Oread sighed again, and tossed the coin. I stuck my tongue out at Falcon – another childish behaviour that I blamed on my condition.

"Oh, it's gone." Oread commented in complete casualness. The coin had been taken up by the twisted special dimension, and disappeared mid-flight. Falcon and I broke into a rant so quick and high-pitched that it was inaudible. "I'll spin one, okay?"

She took out another coin, knelt onto the floor and spun it. It continued to spin for a few seconds, and then stopped dead, standing on its edge. The heads side faced the left route, the tails faced the right.

Both Falcon and I stared wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. Even Oread frowned and pulled one side of her lip back. "There must be some strange, funny forces in here or something. That'd almost never happen in real life. _Almost_." She got to her feet quickly, and still the coin did not budge. "I guess it's straight ahead, then."

So the dispute was settled – barely. Falcon and I still exchanged infuriated glances at one another on the way, as we fought down pretty much the same monsters as before. Except this way had a few extended levels, supported by pillars and arches, as well as a good amount of those mind-boggling teleportation portals. Whether it was me seeing things or just the way this place worked I did not know for sure, but I could have sworn that the top of the arches started from behind me, yet they ended up on our lower level in front, and all this while I was able to shoot up and ahead at the foes overhead, while the arrows seem to go backwards.

I was getting extremely confused and my head started aching. After some time I stopped trying to think about it, and just concentrated on firing my arrows.

This side of the Sanctuary took a lot longer to explore, and the structures are a lot more complicated. We did not have too much trouble, though, as the walls and ceilings seemed to be permeable. When we came across more of the ghost-beings, though, we had _real _trouble.

There was a whole group of blue ones; perhaps it was because of my tender age and lack of experience relative to the other two, I took down most of them with Oread, while Falcon was struggling. She actually uttered a sob as she collapsed onto her knees, all her allies dissipating and absorbed by three enemies as her golden-orange energy.

"Falcon! Come on!" I got close to her and screamed into her ear. Her eyes snapped open, tears pooling at her lower eyelids. She let out a loud cry and brought the Horadric Staff across horizontally, which I barely evaded as the metallic feature at the end ripped across the armour over my stomach, scratching and denting the thin plate.

I was about to go and comfort her as I sensed something behind me; I spun around, barely skimming past a flaming ball of energy and buried a few arrows through two corpse-like fire-wielding summoners. As the figures fell, the sight of Oread facing a skeleton-ghost was before me. Behind me, by the sound of it, Falcon hacked through another ghost, and soon joined me by my side, her ravens and Soleil recalled.

The being that Oread was facing has a reddish-violet aura, and its bones were golden in colour. As if in slow-motion, I saw Oread nock an arrow, then her hands fell as the bowstring was half-strung. The arrow flew through the hollow ribcage of the ghost, and clattered into the floor.

The aura of the demon flared, and Oread screamed. She pressed on her head with her hands, and fell to her knees.

"Oread!" I started running, before I was struck by a fireball. I shot a Cold Arrow through another summoner-corpse; then, ignoring the searing burn on my leg, I kept running. My mind's eye showed me that Oread's deep-indigo energy was being drained, but as the indigo grew dimmer, an icy-blue light pulsed, deep within the core of her body.

She screamed again, her voice ripping through the very space we were in. Even her blue energy began to flow from her. Oread stayed on the floor as the tendons in her arms, neck and forehead began to stand out.

Falcon and I were both trying to get to her now, but at that instant our visible radius increased, and the space opened up –

Two symmetrical set of stairs from either side of us led to a small, high platform, surrounded by tall arches, as if supported an invisible roof. Upon it was an altar, and a dark-skinned man dressed in robes of gold and royal-blue, almost-human except for the dark taste that his very presence left in the air.

"A summoner?" I asked, my eyes locked onto the man. "Is it Horazon?"

"I don't know about that, but he should be _the_ Summoner." Falcon replied. "All the fire-wielders came from the directions of the stairs."

"Master Oread!" I called and spun on my heel, unsheathing my sword and used the force of the movement to slash through another fiery foe that was creeping up to me. By now, the aura of the ghost haunting my master had turned into a shade of deep bluish-violet.

Suddenly, right before I reached her, Oread's energy flashed red – no, _crimson_. Such was the colour that perfectly described the smell, the feeling, the taste of what I had sensed from her before. It momentarily blinded me, and when I regained my vision, I caught a glimpse of a fang-shaped projectile, this time gleaming bright crimson, being absorbed and disappearing into the enclosing special fabric. The ghost crumbled and the energy whirled off.

The sound was accompanied by another noise of whirlwind. Falcon must have summoned the North Winds again, the same skill that she had used in the Sewers. There was a large whooping sound as forces clashed, and I caught the flickering remnants of a wall of fire before they died away.

Someone came up beside me; I turned to see my master, on her feet, her head dipped into the palm of her left hand. The tension in her face was gone, but her eyes were closed, and I thought I saw a purple bruise in the centre of her forehead.

She still smelled like _crimson_. Her energy, her aura, was still crimson, but specks of blue were sparking, and the specks faded into the crimson and made smudges of indigo. However, the crimson dominated her being and overpowered the other two colours.

"Oread, Falcon and I should hold this one off… you've been drained." My voice was on the verge of quivering. This air of hers did not do me very well... I was anxious, and perhaps scared of her.

"Oren."

"What?" Her voice sounded so calm, so smooth… that I was not sure if I had really heard it or simply imagined it.

She had not recovered her bow, I realised.

Faster than I had imagined to be possible, she reached for the spear across her back, pulled it out, and charged ahead. Falcon was preoccupied as she dodged fireballs and cracked the skulls and spines of the lesser summoners with the Horadric Staff, and as Oread whipped past her, Falcon blinked hard and fast a few times, her face looked as if she thought she was seeing things.

"What got into her?" She asked as I ran up to her.

"No idea, but I don't like it." I replied, helping Falcon kill her last foe, and the both of us charged up the left flight of stairs. Oread was bolting up the one on the right.

The Summoner set up walls of fire in Oread's wake, but she ran through them casually, taking the large steps two at a time, the wind against her speed putting out the small flames over her body.

The Summoner hurled himself at her, and she blocked him with her hands – no, there was something between the two. A shield made of… bones?

Using the resistance of whatever material the shield was composed of, the Summoner launched himself off Oread and turned his eyes towards us – light yellow eyes, an acidic shade rather different to the warm amber of my own orbs.

A wall of fire erupted on the step above the one we were standing on, and Falcon and I stumbled backwards. I almost lost my footing and Falcon grabbed my hand. Single-handedly, she conjured up the winds again, and after negating the wall of fire with her chilling blast of wind, she signalled for her wolves to charge.

The wolves pounced repeatedly at the Summoner, but he was agile, and floated here and there as the wolves pursued him. I regained my balance, and was about to keep going as a wall of fire blocked our path, this time on the last step before reaching the small platform.

Falcon fumbled for a mana potion as I watched what was happening – at his speed, we could never harm the Summoner from a distance.

Another wall of fire burst under our feet. Falcon dropped her potion; it fell between the gaps in the steps and into the dark unknown, and Falcon fell back, bringing me along with her as we went tumbled – again – down the flight of stairs.

As I hit the floor a final time, Falcon was under me and cushioned my landing, knocking herself out cold. Instantly her wolves disappeared. Fighting back the pain, I got up and ran up the flight of stairs again, seeing that the walls of fire had died down significantly.

I unsheathed my sword at I climbed the last five steps. As I lifted my head, I was greeted by a rather… familiar sight.

The dark enveloping mass of hazy, shadowy energy that had once trapped Andariel's senses now trapped those of the Summoner.

Trying to seize this turn of the tables, I ran up to deliver the finishing blow; but I stopped myself as blood began to seep out of the Summoner's left eye. A split second later, the pointed tip of a spear came out of his eye, and as the spear was forced further on, the eyeball ripped from its socket, skewered by the tip of the blade.

I managed to fully stop myself just as the spear stopped, and the Summoner's detached yellow eye was staring into my own right eye; I could see my amber eye and the dark red of my lashes in the pierced, split-halves of the pupil.

The spear was pulled back, and the Summoner fell. His eye rolled off the edge of the platform and plummeted into the infinite nothingness. Oread was standing behind the Summoner's body, and yanked the last length of her spear out through the back of his head, with a great stream of blood spurting from the hole in the Summoner's skull.

The bruise was still on her forehead, but it had significantly faded; or maybe it was only because her face was covered by dark blood, cuts and burns.

She looked into my eyes, _through_ my eyes. I looked back, and there was only one emotion in those eyes of hers that I could distinct – misery.

Then the _crimson _faded away, and she fell on top of the body of her recently-felled foe.

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**Oren: **"Impure", from Swedish.

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	25. Chapter 21: Tools of Slaughter

Wow. Thanks so much everyone, for the reviews!

I'd like to publicly thank **Lady Elfdragon** a.k.a. Virali for tickling Murex, my muse, and made him so happy that he worked overtime to come up with a whole new characterisation for the survivor in the Harem! She's dedicated to you, milady!

Of course, one should not forget the great reception that other characters got, especially Falcon… I'm really surprised at how loved she is, actually. Falcon, in turn, is dedicated to **The Phrenologikal Cat** a.k.a. Phreno.

This chapter is solely used for characterisation and development. I'm skimming over the battles at Tal Rasha's Tomb, because about twenty fights with uniques are just… too exhausting.

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns _Diablo_; Ophelion owns Murex.

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**  
Chapter 21: Tools of Slaughter**

Screw manners. We had to get away from this place and I knew where Oread's tome of Town Portal scrolls was, so I took it out and activated one. The page crumbled into ash and blue smoke as the portal opened up. I returned the tome, and got ready to drag both Falcon and Oread through the portal. This was going to be hard work; I was exhausted.

I got Oread through, and went down the stairs to get Falcon, as well as Oread's bow that she had left behind. It was laborious to work my way up the stairs, but I just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

As I shuffled past the altar towards the portal, I noticed the book atop the marble altar – it was a thick hardback book, covered by what looked like worn-out, scaly leather. A certain kind of… energy seemed to be emitting from it, one that was unlike the chaotic, delusional atmosphere of the Arcane Sanctuary; like the calm eye of a turbulent storm.

In any case, it might be important. I snatched it up, and quickly went through the Portal before Falcon could slip and fall from my other arm.

I was dead tired, but I had to alert someone that we were back, and there was something on my mind all this time – the child that we found in the Harem.

When I got to Fara's, I had to ram on the door for a minute or so before someone came. When the door finally opened I got ready to cuss and complain about the delayed response, but before I could look up at the person who opened the door, I was enveloped in a solid but gentle pair of arms.

"Oh, you're safe. You've been gone for a long time…"

"It's good to see you, Jerhyn." I hugged back, worrying, at the back of my head, about stains on his white garments.

"You're not hurt badly anywhere, are you?"

"I'll live, but I'm exhausted and need some help to get the others here. They're at the portal."

As it turned out, Cain, Atma and Drognan were also there. Drognan went with Jerhyn to get Oread and Falcon back, while Atma attended to me – Fara should better spend her energy on the other two.

I was chowing down on some supper that Atma made earlier when they returned. Falcon had regained her consciousness and was complaining loudly about her head and her back, but Oread was still out, with Jerhyn half-supporting, half-dragging her. At this sight there was a sharp tug at my chest – I later identified this as jealousy – but I quickly dismissed it and got up to help.

Fara performed her healing with the two lying on the benches in the living room; I wondered about the guestroom and the bed that Oread had occupied before, but thought better than to question her about accommodation. That would just sound plainly rude.

Oread woke up as Fara finished treating her injuries. We all went to sit around the table, Falcon, Oread and I sipping the medicinal drinks that Atma had prepared.

"You must be wondering why we're all here." Drognan began. "It's because of that survivor that you've found and rescued from the Palace."

"How is she?" Asked Oread; she was exhausted, and I could tell that even speech was an effort, but she _must _be concerned, considering her reactions back at the Harem.

"She's asleep in the room as we speak," Fara replied this time, leaning forward onto the table, her muscular forearms crossed before her. "Her condition's stable – she's suffered malnutrition for a long time, but she's hanging in there. Mentally, however, I can't tell for sure. She's suffering from extreme shock and anxiety, shaking uncontrollably until I've had to drug her and put her to sleep. We're going to have to keep a close eye on her, in the case where she might snap and do something… well, out of place.

"Physically she seems to be aged around ten. We gathered that she was probably born deaf, but her voice box had been forcibly removed. We've been trying to come up with a kind of a profile and figure out who she is, and we've got a pretty solid hypothesis."

It was Jerhyn who continued. "My sister and I escaped from the Palace sixteen years ago, when I was three. Since then, apart from you three, only two people had managed to come out of the place – one was a travelling warrior who escaped after he was maimed; he disappeared soon after. Another one was Drognan here."

He glanced at the mentioned mage, and Drognan accepted as the role of the speaker was passed onto him. "I was an indistinctive student of Horazon's, and that's all you need to know for now. Anyway, fourteen years ago, a female mage from the east, of the clan of Zann Esu – the commonfolks know people like her as 'Sorceresses' – arrived in our town and attempted to cleanse the Palace. She never returned.

"You may say that the child could have been born within the Harem after the corruption began, from a local woman who was already within the Palace at the time; however, there are things that set her apart from an offspring of the people around here. Now, this girl here has the brown skin of the Eastern people, but her small, narrow bone structure is a distinct characteristic of the Zann Esu clan and is contradictory to the more stoutly-built people in this region. Her hair is dark brown with golden strands here and there rather than the common even dark brown or black, and her eyes are maroon rather than other common dark shades."

Cain rolled out a parchment before him; there was an organic design drawn on it, with two smaller runes below it. "The most important point, though, is a large tattoo on her back, one that was burned into her skin by magic and coloured by blood. This is a copy of it here." Cain turned the parchment around to show us. "You see, this seems like a spontaneous, random design, but in fact it is made up by two runes overlapping one another, one upside-down, and the other upright. The upright one reads 'Tir', while the inverted reads 'Ral'.

"We've searched both the words of 'tirral' and 'raltir' in ancient literature, and only came up with one match – 'tirral' belongs to the sacred language of the Zann Esu clan, and it means 'leaf'. It's an ancient Zann Esu spell associated with the element of fire and pyrokinesis.

"The rune stones that you might have found have symbols that represent letters, and these sacred stones can be arranged and put into objects to give them additional magical qualities. Similarly, the runes may be carved into objects by a specially-trained magic-wielding craftsmen to grant them such qualities; but in any case, the object must already be enchanted to a certain degree, depending on the strength of the rune words, in order to utilise the rune-granted abilities.

"There is a practice of the Zann Esu that's deemed as a taboo and suicidal ritual, and the Zann Esu had banned such a practice, during which a person carves the runes into a _human_ with her own blood, in order to awaken him or her with magical assets. The Sorceress must bleed to death in order to complete the ritual. This ritual had been thought to be extinct for a long time, because of the heavy punishments – anyone involved in the practice of it would be killed, their bodies thoroughly destroyed, and their families banished from the Zann Esu."

"From what we've gathered, like the prerequisite associated with runes on objects, this ritual would not work on someone who has no skill in magic." Drognan's sentence flowed on flawlessly as Cain's speech took a brief pause. "From the physical age of the child, as well as her unusual hair and eye colour, we've deduced that she must be the product of the interbreeding between the Sorceress and a human-turned-demon, and so her demonic blood would allow the ritual to take effect. The pyrokinetic abilities may be awakened when she is under threat – we're uncertain how she would know how to use the magic – and that might be what has enabled her to stay alive for so long."

The speech concluded; we stayed silent for a long time, arranging and revising the information that our tired minds had just been forced to process.

After what felt like a few minutes, Oread spoke. "So, the girl is a weapon."

She pushed the chair back and got up.

And bolted towards the guestroom, taking her spear with her.

"Oread!" A few people cried out, including me. Jerhyn was the quickest on his feet, and by the time we caught up, he had drawn back the curtain at the doorway of the room, and Oread's spear was within two inches of the girl's chest.

Either the girl was drained dry of her powers at the moment, or the ability could only be awakened when she was conscious.

"We don't understand what the girl can do." Oread stated, coldly, softly. "She's a part-demon, and a threat to all of our safety. We can't have her just hanging around here."

"Oread, you wanted her to live!" Falcon shouted, seemingly angry at her.

"I should have killed her back there in the Palace." Oread's face was expressionless, her voice icy and flat. I recognised this as a denial and detachment of her own emotions. She did, and would later do this often in order to get the job done.

I also realised that by now, in this state, she was not going to hesitate in killing the child.

I ran up and took the spear in my hand, placing myself between my master and the child. Oread's features softened, just by a little, and some human emotions returned to her eyes. "Celadon, move aside." She ordered.

"We'll take her with us." I was holding the tip of the spear at my throat; I _was _worried that Oread might be heartless enough to take me with the child, but the softening of her face assured me otherwise. "I'll watch her. I'll sleep in the same room with her and take her with me around the place. If she _does_ threaten us somehow, I'll kill her myself. Until then, I won't let an innocent victim like her die if I can help it, even if it means that I have to disobey you, master. It's just not right."

Oread and I locked our gazes for a moment, and then she pulled away – both her spear and her eyes. "If you fail, if you don't do what's necessary, Celadon, I will. Even if it means taking you down in the process." She swept her eyes – her bloodshot but fierce eyes – across everyone else. "If anything becomes a burden, anything at all, and it's blocking my way, I'll move it."

Despite how worn out she was, she managed to walk out and back to the inn.

After she left, that was when I realised – the bruise on her forehead had faded completely, her weak aura had returned to the shade of indigo, but the smell of crimson, however faint, had not disappeared.

* * *

We rested and recuperated. The child had woken up the next day. She was very sensitive to light, and seemed to have a huge fear of crowds and, oddly, loud noises – although she did not hear it, she still cringed every time there was a bang of the door or someone shouting. I tried to talk to her, and after three days she finally looked me in the eye. I brought her to the inn with me and got a room with two beds at first, but after the persistent nightmares, I moved to one with a larger bed and hugged her close while she slept and I tried to do the same. 

"You'll make a great mother, Celadon." Jerhyn commented as I yawned repeatedly during our conversations.

I wondered often, during the long sleepless nights as the child twitched and quivered in my arms, like a dragonfly with torn wings trying to fly…

How was it like to be born into a life of abuse, fear and pain? To be born into utter darkness, where all that you saw, day-to-day, were people being tortured and ripped apart in more ways than one, and all that you knew were death and darkness?

I also thought about her mother, about how it must have felt to be captured and raped, to realise the doom that awaits her, to give birth to a child that she did not want to have in chilling darkness, the hard stone wall the only thing supporting her, the scream-filled air the only thing embracing her.

How desperate would a mother feel? So much so that she finally had to sacrifice her own life, and possibly those of her family back home, for the slim chance that her child might survive?

In this world we live in, is a warrior's identity more than that is told by the piles of slain bodies of the enemy? Yes, but this fact is oft-forgotten. To the outside, each life engaged in battles is just another tool of slaughter.

Perhaps Oread had the right idea, the more sensible idea. But to me, this child was much more than that.

* * *

I brought up the book that I found at the Arcane Sanctuary with Oread and Falcon, and together we brought it to Cain and Drognan. It was in the same old language as that on the tablet that opened the portal to the Arcane Sanctuary, but I thought perhaps Oread would not remember the incident. Every time the icy blue aura came about, she would later forget all that she did with the aura. 

Though I wondered if it was the same with the crimson aura; after all, I could still smell it.

It turned out that Horazon was killed a few years ago, but he had completed his studies on the link between Tal Rasha and the corruption of the deserts, and recorded them in this book. Drognan had discussed this with Jerhyn and Cain, and found that Diablo himself must have passed through the deserts, disguised, and tried to wreck havoc. Tal Rasha was a great Horadrim – I have finally figured that part out after such a long time; Cain always spoke about him, but I never bothered to ask – who had passed away a short time ago. He had famously built seven tombs and sacrificed himself in one of them, in order to strengthen the seal that kept Baal, as well as most of the powers of his brothers Mephisto and Diablo imprisoned. Diablo had not managed to break the seal, but he had weakened it somehow.

Cain went onto explaining that the book contained the symbol of the true tomb of Tal Rasha, and if we wanted to help stop the corruption and chaos that was getting worse day-by-day here in Lut Gholein, we must seek out Tal Rasha's tomb and investigate thereon.

So we prepared to set out within a week. Cain had also mentioned that since Tal Rasha was a Horadrim, the Horadric Staff may play some role in this mission. Falcon was not pleased, but she later went and bought a nice staff with a deadly, spiked, metal adornment at one end that looked like quite a perfect replacement for the Horadric Staff (of course, it was nowhere as enchanted), as well as a small blade that was a little longer than my own short sword.

"But… honestly, Falcon, you're… not very proficient with the blade." I just had to remind her of this fact.

She just smiled and continued to polish her weapons.

Two days after we were deemed to be sufficiently recovered, we were still hanging around town. Not a word was said as to when we were to set out again; Oread was as quiet as usual, but she was quiet even to me. Even Falcon was not smiling as much, or as heartily. There was much danger in this mission, and without a word being said about this, we had all perceived it.

The only person that assured me otherwise was Jerhyn. I would talk to him, and become stressed and worried, then he would hug me close and whisper that he believed in my abilities; that it would be all right in the end.

Perhaps I knew that it was false hope, and perhaps he did, too… but it was nice to know that somebody was still at least _trying _to look at the bright side.

I often tried to mirror his smile, but when Oread and Falcon finally agreed to set out the following morning, I could not help but think back to the fight with Andariel, when I was still oblivious and unfamiliar to the notion of danger, and its intimacy with this journey. I have learnt since then, and I thought I had learnt the hard way – that was then, I would later find that there were harder ways that that – of the closeness of death to a warrior in this world, this which we called the _Sanctuary_.

So that night, I broke down. I cried and cried, my tears soaking the front of Jerhyn's tunic. He just hugged me, ran his hands down my back in a soothing motion, and lifted my head with a gentle hand after I calmed down a little.

"I know that you'll live through this, Celadon." He said.

"My master almost died last time we faced Andariel, and this time we don't even know what we're up against!" I retorted, tears welling up again. "Jerhyn, you know I trust you with everything. If anything happens to me, will you please make sure that the child is safe?"

"You're talking as if it's your last night – "

"What if it _is_?"

"Then," Jerhyn reached out and brushed my bangs – they were getting longer – off my face, then he leaned in and kissed me softy on the lips. I kissed him back. "We'll make the most of it."

We kissed again, our hands working over the contours of one another's face and body, locking the tactile sensations into our memories. The image of us being in the same bed flashed in my mind, but I knew that would be irresponsible. I wanted him to have the best in his life, and I knew that a travelling mercenary, such as me, in this perilous world, was not a good match for anyone. I would only leave him tied to an unattainable love, if not, a corpse. Perhaps this passion was only forced by desperation, like a plant blossoming when it senses its own approaching doom.

But for tonight, just for one night, we could at least pretend that we were lovers.

* * *

In Horazon's journal, there contained a page of inscriptions that opened up a portal, coloured a liquid-like silver-grey. This portal led to the Canyon of the Magi, and we accessed the tomb with the right symbol marked upon it – again, this was recorded in the journal. 

We battled; battled like mad. There was a time when I felt like a simple tool, where all I did was identify the enemy and eliminate them. My mind was elsewhere, back in Westmarch, revisiting my first battles, the fallen town of Tristram, the Forgotten Tower, my mother's body, and all that happened within the holy confinements of the Rogue Monastery.

Where had all those feelings gone? I remembered feeling guilty and ashamed every time I took a life. Now, plunging my sword through the chest of another foe, its lungs welling up with blood as it drowned in its own fluids, all I could sense was the smell of metal, the colour of red, and the dull _thud_ of the body.

Every time one kills, one also kills a part of one's self. That was what I had learnt since then.

As we stood before the Tomb of Tal Rasha, the wall being blasted open by the concentrated force of the disintegrating Horadric Staff, I was surprised to find that I was not nervous. Alert, but not nervous.

The light faded, and the hole before us led to a place that seemed as dark and distant as my own emotions were. Little did I know that the emotions would later return, in only a few days' time, and it would come back with full force.

But for now, the battle was here, outside my mind, and my body only knew that it had to take me there, whether my mind liked it or not.


	26. Chapter 22: Arrival and Departure

Yay for a hundred reviews! Oh how can I ever thank my reviewers! Especially when I'm a member of the underappreciated _Diablo _fandom. .. It's really good to know that my mushier chapters actually, well, work. I can't do quite a few things even to save my life; one of them is writing romance, whether it be fluff, flust or smut. So for all you perverted readers out there, I'm afraid I can't fulfil my fan service to you. No, I mean this, sincerely.

This chapter might be the last one in a while. Uni is starting again, and my timetable means that I can only work on my writing on Fridays, mainly. So if I don't update, assume that this is on hiatus until late September. If I still don't update then, assume that I'm dead.

I've also changed the storyline regarding the transfer between the first three acts, so don't chew me up about that. And for any Stephen King-readers out there, please do not be inspired by the character of Annie Wilkes.

**Disclaimer: **_Diablo_ belongs to Blizzard. Annie Wilkes belongs to Stephen King and is not of this world. Thank goodness.

* * *

**Chapter 22: Arrival and Departure**

The aura in the chamber was so aggressive that it physically knocked me back. I steadied myself and realised that I had just narrowly evaded a blow that would have been fatal.

I looked up, and what I saw brought back within me the long-neglected primal feeling of fear. I screamed. It was the most abnormal… _deformed_ thing I had ever seen. The foe we faced was a giant bug, over six feet tall with a tough brown shell coloured a near-red in some places. It was erect from its thorax up, and its large abdomen was an old sickly yellow, from which five pairs of stout, short, segmented legs protrude. It thorax was wide and thick with bony spikes down the back; there was a singular spike in the centre of its forehead, and its face… the horrendous grimace eternally spread across it as the jaw full of razor-like teeth flexed. Its eyes were no more than slits in its skull that may not even see.

But what scared me the most were the arms – the muscles bulged from its shoulders down, and the last segment of the limbs were shaped into huge scythe-like forms, each blade about four feet long and the tips coloured an arterial blood-red.

While I was still recovering from shock, Oread jerked me aside, towards the other side of the chamber, as the monster struck at Falcon. Dusk jumped in front of her, and with a shriek-like yelp and a sharp ringing grind of metal against bone, the wolf was sliced cleanly in half.

Falcon made a face that was both angry and shocked to the extreme, but she held on and also arrived at our side. I began to fire at it; the monster turned around and scuttled, with an amazing speed, towards us, its bladed limbs making alternating slicing motions. I was at the forefront of the group, and I had just made it in time as I abandoned my bow, evaded one limb and parried a strike from the other with my sword.

Instantly I was overtaken by an icy energy, and within a second it began to burn. I collapsed and Oread ran in front of me as the blades came down. She nudged me back with her foot and stepped back, but not quick enough to totally evade the monster's attacks. There were swift sounds of slicing, and Oread collapsed to her knees.

Meanwhile, I had recovered from the chill. I fended off another blow and stole a look at my master; there were three bloody gashes across her torso: one just below her collarbones, the deepest one a little lower than that, and one across her stomach. She was gasping loudly – probably from damaged lungs – as she reached for a potion and drained it.

I picked up my bow and fired, aiming at its joints, where the tough plates of the monster's natural armour would hopefully not cover quite as well. It seemed to work as it made a shrill screech and brought a bladed limb down at me. I focused and hacked at the angled section, where the wrist would have been, and the monster screeched again. There was a gust of wind from behind me and I ducked, the other blade of a limb slicing off strands of my hair.

Then there was a loud, explosive _bang_, as the ground beneath the monster split apart. The magma beneath spat upwards, searing the underside of the monster's abdomen. Seizing this chance, I fired furiously. Oread came up beside me and readied her spear, before taking a few good hacks at the monster's chest and abdomen. I again ripped my sword from its sheath and stabbed between the plates of the monster's abdomen, the blade buried all the way to the hilt.

Blood the colour of dark olive was pouring onto the ground, but the monster seemed very resilient. With a backward swipe of one of its arms it knocked both Oread and me flying, both of our weapons ripped from its body with a stream of blood.

Oread hit the opposite wall and I was sent tumbling out the tomb via the hole that the Horadric Staff had blown through the wall. My vision regained its function after a few seconds and I hurried back into the tomb, my sword readied.

When I had full view of the battle scene, the great black wolf Soleil had just suffered a blow at the neck, and I noted that Dawn and both ravens had disappeared. Oread's spear crackled with lightning as she planted it through the monster's side. A bluish white was sent up the spear, and Oread lost her grip on it just as she pulled it out. She managed to keep her knees from buckling, and as the monster charged towards Falcon, both Oread and I cried out her name.

Soleil wedged herself between Falcon and the monster, but she was soon ripped into ribbons. Falcon reabsorbed what was left of her spiritual ally as the scythe of a limb came down towards her. She brought up her staff to block the strike –

And the bladed limb sliced straight through the staff and kept going.

Next thing I knew, there was a dull _thump_ as Falcon's right arm and shoulder fell onto the ground.

It had only been about two seconds since I called out her name.

Falcon's scream filled the chamber as I fired arrow after arrow into the monster; I was getting puffed out from overusing my magic and my vision was blurring. The scream intensified as the other limb caught her in the side, through the bottom of her left ribcage and pinning her to the wall behind her.

Oread yelled and leapt up, planting her spear through the abdomen of the monster. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl as the three of them stayed confined by weapons.

I stole a look at Falcon's fallen arm; there was no blood, as the wound had frozen over and the flesh was beginning to turn black as the extreme chill ate away at it. The hand and fingers, nerves newly detached from the control of the brain, jerked and twitched reflexively.

Grey stars began to take over my vision and I collapsed, panting for breath desperately, my body shaking and out of control. As I fumbled for a mana potion, Oread cried and yanked out the spear, and while the monster flailed her off, Falcon's remaining hand reached for something beneath the armour over her left shoulder.

With a fierce shout, she buried half of her new blade into the monster's chest.

"There's a gap in your armour now." Falcon spoke softly, and I could have sworn that she was smiling, despite the pain that she must have been in.

Then her aura glowed in a particular way, the way it buzzed softly when she used her skill of…

"My armour of cyclone is better than yours!" She shouted, sounding somewhat hysterical and oddly triumphant, as she transferred her power through the blade and into the monster's chest. There were dull ripping and popping sounds that must have come from within the monster, and a huge stream of olive blood poured from its jaws.

It tried to bring a swing of its limb down upon Falcon, but I got there in time to block and divert the blow with my sword. The monster screeched pulled its other limb out from the wall through Falcon and attempted another strike, but not before Oread silenced it with a spear through the throat from the back.

The assaulting bladed limb's descent upon me slowed, and I quickly hopped out of its trajectory. With a few quick movements of the wrist Oread beheaded the monster. Its massive body, frozen in an incomplete stance at first, drooped and grew limp as it finally collapsed.

My knees gave in and I sat there on the ground, stunned by the rapid series of action that had just taken place. The chamber was splattered with blood, both red and green. Then Falcon's pained moan brought me back to my senses.

"Falcon! Oh, dear gods…" She was still conscious! I checked both injuries. The flesh was blackened around the wounds; the chill had spread and ate away up to perhaps an inch or so from the initial cut.

"Oread!" I called for my master; she was behind me, mumbling something. I turned to her as a portal opened beside her.

"I'm sorry. It was all happening too quickly that I didn't have a chance to complete the incantations." She was lying on her side, a pool of blood gradually expanding about her torso. "Take Falcon back as quickly as you can. I'm out of potions. We all are." She gasped as she completed each sentence, then she coughed and blood flowed from her mouth.

"But you –"

"Celadon, this is an _order_! Just do it!" She screamed, and then her head fell back onto the ground.

* * *

"I'm so useless." I wept as I sat beside Oread's bed, my back to her. "I'm so very… very sorry…" 

"You've slowed it down a lot with the arrows, you've fought hard. It's not your fault that we had such a confined space." Oread tried to reach for my back with her hand; I could tell with my Inner Sight, but I was sitting a little far from her, and she could not move any further with her injuries, so she gave up. "If you weren't there, we wouldn't even have reached the bug. You fought very well, Celadon."

There was a moment of silence as I tried to absorb the words of comfort, but it just did not work. Just as I gave up trying to think it out and make myself feel better, there was a sharp knock on the door. "Come in." I sobbed.

It was Fara's prepubescent son. "Mother wants to meet you two. She just sent me to tell you that she'll be here in half an hour's time, and that your friend is alive."

"Thanks for letting us know." I replied, sniffing and rubbing my eyes, trying to regain control of my voice and appearance.

"No, thank _you_ all." He smiled, with a bit of reserve. "Drognan said that the curse of the desert has been broken, and Greiz is confident that his men can take care of the remaining monsters around here. You've saved our city." He turned to leave. "I hope your friend can be saved, too." He added before leaving.

Fara arrived right on time, looking worn out and irate, and I suddenly felt extremely guilty for overusing her so much; but her features softened as she swung a chair around and sat in it, beside me. "I tried to come a little earlier, but I had to ask Deckard Cain about Kurast, and the old man wouldn't shut up. Now, before you ask, Falcon is alive, as you know; but she won't be for much longer at this rate. Her kidney, stomach and both lungs are badly damaged. I've managed to stop them deteriorating, but if she doesn't get some help soon her other organs will fail."

"Can't you heal them?" I asked. I knew I sounded naïve, but I had to know how bad this was.

"No. This isn't just restoring damaged tissues; it's not that simple." She sighed and leaned further back in her chair. "This is about _regenerating_ lost tissues. I can't do that. No healer can make something out of nothing. There _is_, however, one potion that _may _help. It's known as the 'Elixir of Life'. That's why I was held up by Cain, because such an elixir was rare, and the last healer who knew how to brew it died in Kurast, Cain's birth town. They might still have some there, stored as a batch of potion or the recipe or whatever."

Fara stopped, waiting for our enquiries.

"How long does Falcon have without the potion?" Oread finally asked.

"I'd say about… a week. Maybe less."

"How long does it take to travel to Kurast?"

"The most direct route by sea takes four to six days, depending on the weather. However, the seas have grown rampant for a while now. Corrupted creatures occupy them, especially close to Kurast, for some reason."

"Is someone willing to take us there?"

"The denizens of Lut Gholein owe their _lives_ to you three, Oread. I'm sure someone will be much willing to do so."

* * *

The next morning, despite our conditions, we got ready to set sail before sunrise. The captain of the ship, Meshif, was a well-mannered and cheerful man in his fifties, but even his face fell when he realised Falcon's state. 

Jerhyn and I had spent the night together, sitting outside the palace, looking at the stars that never offered any answers to the hopefuls who wished upon them. As dawn approached, we kissed again, and when we finally pulled away, he took something off his left hand and slipped it onto my finger.

"This is my family ring." He explained. "With it come my best wishes to your journey."

"I can't take that!" I replied. "This is the ring of the royal family! Your family heirloom! I can't have it!"

"Then consider it borrowed; is that all right, then?" He held my hand between both of his; they were unexpectedly warm. "You can return it to me later."

I shook my head. "I can't guarantee that I can do that." I looked into his eyes, and found both hope and joy in them, overpowering the traces of sorrow. For an instant I was captured by those emotions. "…I'll try."

"Try your best, too." Jerhyn embraced me, and his body heat enveloped me and warmed me. "It's courageous to die in battle, but otherwise, never give up and just keep living, okay?"

"Yes." I managed a smile, but the tears came with it. "Farewell, Jerhyn. I'm so glad that I've come onto this journey and met you."

"Things will be all right in the end." He reassured me once more, and out a hand over my cheek. "Farewell, Celadon."

I stood up and his hand slid down my face and my neck to fall back on his lap. Our eyes met again, and after a few wordless moments, I pulled away and walked towards the dock. Jerhyn stayed in front of his Palace, but I could feel his gaze behind me as I distanced myself from this attachment, this attachment that might hold me back and trap me from living the life of a mercenary.

The horizon was lightening as I arrived at the dock. I was standing in the exact same spot where Falcon and I were first acquainted by names. Now she was aboard, drifting between delirium and unconsciousness.

My eyes stung, but I dismissed it as the effects of looking at the dawning sun. As we silently sailed away from the jewel of the desert, I did not look back.

* * *

As Fara said, the seas became wilder as we sailed closer to the tropical regions containing the city of Kurast. It was raining more frequently and heavily, and by the third day, we had sailed pass a storm and Meshif estimated that it would take at least another day-and-a-half to arrive at Kurast. 

Oread spent most of her time keeping to herself; she _was_ still badly wounded, after all. Cain had accompanied us, as well as the young girl from the Harems. Cain was teaching her how to read and write as well as sign language. How he managed to communicate with her I was not sure, but I admired him – for once – for his efforts. The girl was learning remarkably quickly, and she was putting on much-needed weight very nicely.

As for me, I kept close to Falcon. She had only enough energy for one short conversation so far, but I was glad that she did not seem like she was fading away. She had other ideas, however.

"My instincts tell me that I won't make it, Celadon." She muttered lowly; I had to move very close to her to hear her. "It hurts to breathe, and I can't take food in. I won't make it."

"Don't say that!" I was trying to sound as convincing as possible. "We have no idea how powerful this potion can be… you've got to hang in there; you can't die before we've tried absolutely everything!"

"I'm at sea now; she's drawing me to her."

"The ocean?"

Falcon blinked once and smiled. "This is where I can happily die. This is where I should be."

"Falcon, no! Listen to me…" I held her face with my hands, and realised that she had lost consciousness again. I sank back, folded my legs up and hugged myself. "We're gonna make it." My voice came out sterner than I felt.

On the morning of the fifth day, Falcon was still alive. There was a thick cloud in the sky, dimming the light of the day and feigning the darkness of twilight. The waves grew stronger with the wind, and Meshif asked for help to secure the things aboard.

I did as he told me to, before I attended to Falcon to clean her wounds and change the dressings, while thinking about how I could secure her to make her as comfortable as possible in case of a wild storm. She was unconscious as I finished re-bandaging her injuries, but as I tried to secure her to her makeshift bed, her eyes snapped open.

"Don't, Celadon." She mumbled as her pupils grew smaller by the dim light of my lamp.

"But Falcon, we can't have you rolling around if the boat –" I was cut off mid-sentence as the boat rocked violently. I grabbed Falcon about the waist and she groaned.

"Enemies are close…" She trailed off into slurred murmurs.

I realised that she was delirious again and was deciding whether to stay or get out and investigate when light footsteps approached. I looked up to the small figure; she squatted down beside me and put a hand over her chest.

"You'll stay with her?" I asked. The girl nodded. "Right. Just hold her still, okay?"

The girl nodded again and calmly knelt down, then sat on her folded legs beside Falcon. I left the lamp with her, grabbed my weapons and headed out onto the deck. It had begun to rain. "What's going on?" I asked.

"We're being attacked by something in the water." Meshif replied just as Oread emerged from the cabin below the deck, adjusting her gears and fully armed.

The boat rocked again, more violently this time. With the strong waves, some water slapped onto the deck. We had just steadied ourselves when something slammed one side of the ship; wood cracked and splintered where the impact was focused, as lightning sliced across the sky overhead.

As thunder bellowed, a huge wave was sent up over the undamaged side of the boat. It crashed down onto us, and when I shook the wet hair out of my eyes, I saw the sight that announced doom and dread –

We were facing a monster. "It's a Tentacle Beast!" Meshif announced. The rain impeded my vision, but to me it looked like a giant viper, completed with horns, acid-green eyes and horns, only its scales were dark and smooth.

Oread fired two arrows at it, and it parted its jaws to spit a clear liquid at her. She sidestepped just in time as the liquid left a dark, rough mark on the wooden deck.

"Acid." Oread muttered, and shot a few more arrows. Inner Sight allowed both of us to see what was going on; but for Meshif, the visibility was too bad, and cleverly, he stayed out of the way and tried to steer the ship against the will of the storm.

We caught the Tentacle Beast in one eye, and it crashed its head onto the deck, crushing a hole through to the cabin space beneath. Before it was out of reach again, Oread stabbed it through the hinge of the jaw. This enraged the beast, and as Oread pulled out her spear and leapt out of the way, she uttered a pained grunt and fell to her knees.

"Oread?"

"Dammit, not this again…" She had obviously overexerted herself and torn up her old injuries.

I fired on, but my supply of arrows were running low; also the scales were remarkably slimy and tough – most of the arrows just slid past. The neck of the beast wavered as it readied itself for another dive, but I got close enough before it could do so, and stabbed it in the neck.

To my shock, the scales seemed to close around my blade and grip on. After that instant of uncertainty I had managed to rip out my sword, but the delay allowed the beast to spit a load of acid directly at my right arm.

I screamed as it burned through layers of skin; fortunately the heavy rain diluted the acid, but my arm was still left painful and raw, and the wound looked as if it would start pouring blood if I somehow jerked it a bit.

The Tentacle Beast was tough, all right. I was running low on the energy department; after all, we had only finished off a colossal bug yesterday.

The storm raged on, and I began to panic as my options ran out. I was not sure if Oread and I could kill this beast in our present conditions.

Then suddenly my mind seemed to scold me for my weakness, as I was filled with energy. The pain grew duller, and adrenalin surged within my body.

"What's that?" Oread asked as she got to her feet. I whipped around to see a golden-orange mass of glowing energy, shaped somewhat like a small portal with the centre filled with the glow, too.

"The Oak Sage."

"Falcon!" Oread yelled. I looked behind the energy mass and saw Falcon, standing there, her eyes ablaze with the same golden-orange glow.

"Spirit of Life." She announced in a flat tone, then she brought her remaining arm forward, her hand held up to face the Beast.

"No, Falcon!" I ran up to try and stop her, but the strong gust of wind knocked me off. This was her skill of Twister, her most mana-consuming skill. "Stop it! You'll die!" I cried out.

Falcon only took another step forward to push the column of wind towards the foe. The Beast tried to retaliate, but both Oread and I fired, and held it back.

Falcon kept walking up, and when she reached the rails on the edge of the boat, she stepped one foot upon them. "Falcon, get back!" I tried to walk forward, but the wind was too strong. As I reached forward with my hand, she turned back and smiled, as blood leaked from between her lips.

"FALCON!!!" I screamed as she jumped off the boat.

The column of wind ripped and soon it was raining blood and flesh.

The aglow Spirit faded out with a deep resonating hum, and I fell onto the deck. I sat there, and as the rain pounded onto me and dripped off me, I felt bits of myself dripping away with it.

Oread walked up and knelt before me. I lifted my head to look at her, my hand reaching for the bear's tooth that was tied about my belt.

I could not see her properly, but I heard her perfectly, and it echoed in my mind.

"Falcon's dead, Celadon."

That was when all the emotions returned and throttled me with full force. I plunged myself into Oread's chest, ignoring her wincing, and wailed into the hammerings of the icy rain.


	27. Chapter 22 and a half: Broken Reflection

Thanks to the four who reviewed my last chapter! Really, PLEASE review my last chapter; it's the most pivotal one so far, and I really need some comments! Please?

I realised that Oread hasn't put in her two cents since… um… ::Checks archive:: Chapter 6.5! That's a while ago, so here we are. Oh, and the hiatus-or-dead situation still holds as per last chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Diablo_. I only own Murex and my false hopes.

* * *

**Chapter 22.5**

**Broken Reflection**

* * *

Celadon fell ill. No wonder, after standing there in the rain the whole time. As soon as the girl set foot on the dock of Kurast, she collapsed. 

So now she's lying here before me, asleep. Her face is clammy and she feels cold, even in this tropical weather. Poor kid has everything coming at her at once – leaving that boy Jerhyn, who she must have feelings for; homesickness probably taking its toll as well, while she's at it. Falcon's death must have just got it all together and brought her back to earth. It must be hard for a girl like Celadon to have to grow into this detached, cold skin of a warrior so quickly… Oh, I wouldn't know. As far as I know – for me at least – emotions are disposable if you want them to be.

But I do feel quite bad about Falcon's death… I could have opened a portal beforehand back at Tal Rasha's; not knowing what enemy we'd be up against isn't an excuse… it should have been a reason. I could have been more careful. I could have fought better. I could have protected her better.

Just like I could have protected Naiad.

Falcon saved my life; but my own weakness contributed to her death. That girl had such a passion for life, such a fierce fighting spirit… and now she's dead. I sensed the same bright ambition from her that Naiad once had, too. It's not fair that those who deserves to live dies, but I guess life has never been fair.

A week or so ago, if I was in this situation, I would probably have willed myself to death; I would've said something along the lines of "I wish I were dead instead of them". All these people: Naiad, Falcon, Celadon, they deserve a life more than I do; that's true, but now that I've…

I can't stop now. Not until I've figured out what had happened to me before. I thought I knew everything about my past, thought I could remember everything; I was shown otherwise by those mana-leeches back at the Arcane Sanctuary. Celadon told me things before, that I did things that I did not remember doing while I was badly injured, but this was different…

I _saw_. I saw Naiad and Nereid, younger than I ever remembered them to be, and there was blood. A lot of it. I remember its taste – like the saccharine nectar of life, and then it became bitter and cold.

I swear, before I die I have to find out what that was about. If someone's hurt Naiad in the past, I'll seek revenge for her. I'll bring that person down as a sacrifice for her… and hopefully somewhat redeem myself of my incompetence as an older sister, a guardian.

It sounds selfish, but I know now that there's something more out there for me; something that will complete the hazy picture in my mind. Nothing can bring Naiad back, but at least this might help her rest in peace… and leave me in peace, too.

And then there are the other "memories" that I didn't even know I had, those that seemed out-of-place, where I didn't recognise anything, and the way the man kept calling out to me, kept saying over and over that word that seemed to ring in my head every time I think about it…

_Oren…_

I feel like I don't even know myself anymore, and I hate it.

* * *

Damn you, Falcon; why did you throw your life away like that? 

Celadon hurts a lot for you. It's been nearly a week and she'd cried every time I tried to talk to her. Must you make her learn this lesson the hard way?

… Maybe I'm just blaming you. Blaming you because I know I was helpless to help you in the end. In fact, you gave yourself up to save us… I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I didn't get to know you more. I'm sorry that I never told you how much I appreciated you as part of our company. I'm sorry that I failed you, your trust and loyalty in me. I'm sorry that I, as the assumed leader, led you to danger and death.

I'll miss you, Falcon. Rest in peace.

* * *

_Blood._

_Magic humming arrows flying walls cracking doors breaking blades slashing clashing people screaming killing hiding dying bleeding bleeding bleeding – _

_Sticky on white marble and stone. Tacky on the floor. Pasty on the hands._

_Oren!_

_Woman… Naiad's dark blue-grey eyes and sandy-blonde hair, large rounded eyes of her own unlike Naiad's narrower, more refined ones. The baby is in my arms, small body radiating the familiar aura – brilliant shade of bright turquoise. _

_(Bright turquoise, jade green. Naiad, Celadon. Naiad's whining, Celadon's weeping.)_

_OREN! Shower of blood. _

_Naiad older, standing beside me, small hands clinging to my robe about my waist. Crimson burned, burned in my hand, my body, my mind, my soul. Sweet smells of toxins and metal. Syrupy tastes of something like honey-sweet sea water that sticks to the roof of my mouth… _

_(Sea water, taste of tears. Hot tears chilled by rain, shed for the fallen.)_

_Shower of blood, again. No, that's not right. This one's cold… this one's a bloody _storm_, and oh did it _flood_… _

_(Storm onboard storm of water flesh blood tears)_

_Drowning._

* * *

My lungs inflate almost painfully as my eyes snap open. Sounds of splashing fluids are still humming in my brain as I sit myself up. It was a dream… that's right. I haven't had one so vivid in a long time. I rarely ever remember my dreams, anyway; though this one isn't going to fade any time soon. 

Must be the stress and the exhaustion and… the grief of losing a comrade.

My eyes are adjusting to the light – it must be just a short while before dawn. I turn to the side and see Celadon, sleeping more peacefully now; beyond her, the nameless child from the Harem. In this kind of light, time seems to be standing still; everything seems to be so peaceful… if not withholding deathly promises. Like the absolute calm before the storm.

(Storm of blood drowning suffocating going under)

I can't fall asleep again, it appears.

I get up and throw a cloak over my shoulders against the damp morning chill. I walk barefoot out towards the docks, the cold wood hard and unwelcoming beneath my feet. A thick fog blankets the water, enveloping the entire dock, enveloping my entire self.

Is that someone there? A toned yet feminine physique with long, sleek hair in pigtails reaching the waist, sitting on the edge of the dock, looking out to the sea currently obscured by a silver haze.

No, it's all in my head. Falcon always watched the sunrise at the dock back at Lut Gholein; but she's dead now. Dead and gone. Such a scene will never be seen again.

We've lost the purpose of being here. We've failed in saving Falcon. We were too late.

So… now what?

WHAT? I scream into the fog, knowing full well that the densely-vapoured air will dissipate the sound before it can reach anyone sleeping at the moment. WHAT DO I DO NOW?

The haze offers no answers. My legs grow weak and I fall on my hands and knees; now the cold's sent up my arms, as well.

(Let the crimson burn burn them all to bits)

No…

That's right.

I remember now; however can I forget… Those voices, those scenes, the blood and the crimson. These questions I seek answers to. I realise… It's no longer revenge that I seek, but consolation. I want to be at peace.

Peace… the last time I had a vague sensation of peace was when I gave Celadon her bow for her birthday.

Speaking of birthday… If Naiad were alive now, tomorrow will be her eighteenth; but she's dead, too. She has been for over seven months now. I still remember… how something snapped within me, and the bright turquoise flame that had always been a part of my mind's vision, always been a part of my life force, was distinguished.

I knew she was dead before the news came by word of mouth, some six weeks later. By the time of her funeral, one without a body, was held, my tears had run dry. They accused me of heartlessness; they still do. They weren't there when I felt like I could die from the inside out.

The fog's lifted now, as the sun peeks from beyond the horizon. I make my way to the edge of the dock, still on my hands and knees, and look into the dark water.

I see my reflection with my eyes – the champagne hair still as faded-looking as ever, the double-coloured irises still look so out-of-place. My face hasn't changed much, at all.

But as I try to look deeper, all I see are bits and pieces that seem absurd and disconnected. It feels like I'm… looking into a shattered mirror. A disarrayed, broken image of me is all that my mind can see.

I don't know myself anymore; I wonder if I ever did.

Footfalls behind me. I jerk around and see a small figure standing just five feet from me. How did I miss it…?

This girl... the girl from the Harem. That's such an awful way to remember her by. She's fully dressed, in those bland grey garments – hip-length tunic, pants and sash, all grey. Her fine, limp hair hangs down to her waist, perfectly straight without a single kink. With her eyes closed and her posture passive, she almost looks like an apparition.

Then her eyes open – those thickly-lidded but bright eyes. With the golden rays of the dawning sun, they look not maroon, but blood-red.

She smiles. Her eyes glitter with liveliness, with the will to live and love.

How could I ever even _think _about killing this girl?

She crouches down so that her eyes level with mine – those eyes of flame and blood.

_Tirral. _Leaf. Rune of fire.

Eyes that declare her furious passion for life.

The leaf that survives the flames. The crisp green that overpowers a whole sea of red.

"Leaf." My lips form the word. The child's grin widens; she utters a voiceless chuckle and rams into me with a near-violent hug. My wounds protest, but I ignore them, and hug her back.

I'm not going to give up here. There's still so much to live for, it seems.


	28. Chapter 23: Whispering Memories

Much thanks and appreciation to the reviewers, and an extra great welcome to **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**, **taimench** and **mickrulz**! To taimench: it's always good to have a perspective where the canon law holds a little higher than it usually is in my head. To Emmy, I hope you'll get past my cruddier chapters soon; it's something I'm almost ashamed to look back at…

I've had a lot of time to think, but not about this 'fic; seems like every time I try to think a little harder about it my brain rejects the idea and tells me to save it for something more important (like physics – the discipline furthest from the _Diablo_ realm). Not to mention this seems to have become a runaway-'fic with increasing angst, and writing angst is such a drain on my (limited) supply of brain juice. Murex protests, of course. So here it is.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Diablo _or the uncanny disappearance of Natalya, and I barely own Murex anymore, if I had ever owned him in the first place.

* * *

**Chapter 23: **

**Whispering Memories**

* * *

I was sick for two weeks; half the time was spent in delirium, the other half in something worse. 

The last seconds of Falcon's life haunted my dreams and waking moments. I could not believe it – we failed. We came so close to Kurast, so close to saving her, and she died.

I questioned the child about watching Falcon while I was out to face the Tentacle Beast. She was calm about it as she explained to me – using a mixture of symbols, writing and sign language – that Falcon wanted it to be so; that it was useless as well as cruel to stop her. She justified that Falcon's wish was not to be saved and live on as a crippled being whose body would no longer function as that of a warrior.

Pride, honour, dignity. Are they really what this is all about?

Jerhyn's family ring on my finger… I recalled the times that he had asked me to live, asked me not to throw my life away.

I love him for that.

But maybe it was not what a warrior was to believe in.

"_Are you afraid of death, Falcon?"_

"_You never really die, you_ _know… You remain in parts of the earth; parts of you live on throughout thousands of lives… My being here on earth as who I am now is only a free_ _trip… Let whatever owns me take me in the end; as long as I am where I ought to be, all is well."_

But it felt like she just… disappeared. Ceased to exist – drifted away silently, quickly, eternally. An evanescent whisper that faded away without a trace.

"Memories of one who passed away live on in the minds of those who are alive" might be what Falcon was getting at. So what happens when those others die as well?

Lives are so disposable in this world. I questioned my own significance in this greater scheme of things.

As insignificant Falcon's life was to the gods, however, to me she was exceptional. She was a friend, an ally, a companion. She was the first person whose death I bore such an active and undeniable witness to. She might live in the past, in my memories, but dwelling in them did not help; it only made me understand – better and better as the days went by – that she would never be here again.

* * *

I decided to get up and walk about for a bit – being alone and unoccupied makes the mental overpower the physical, it seemed. 

Kurast was not much of a city; all I knew it as was an array of elevated wooden huts, sturdier stone-paved areas with stalls, imitating bazaars – only they were much too small, and… those darn boardwalks. I slipped several times on them, for they were forever soaked with rainwater; and as much as the townspeople try to maintain them, moss grew between the planks of wood, and sometimes overgrew them.

That was the other thing – the place was always ­_wet_. And humid. And so very very hot. It drizzled constantly, and about twice a day, it _pours_. Further inland the dense forests might make the rain more bearable, but here, close to the main river that led out to sea, the "growth" of the "city" meant that trees were removed, and the rain pelted mercilessly down upon the humans who tried to outwit, counteract and overpower Mother Nature.

I wondered what Falcon would have to say about this.

After asking around for a bit – which took quite long, as I navigated through the maze-like arrangement of the city, in an attempt to speak to the few people I knew, all situated quite some distance apart from each other – and getting lost a few times, I found Oread near the inner border of the town, where the vegetation outdid the artificial structures. Her bow was lying on the ground beside her, and she was soaked – her hair, her skin, and the plain grey dress that she had cut up to be short and sleeveless. She was standing upright and practicing some strictly magical skills, though I could not tell which one it was without my Inner Sight.

"Oread," I called softly. She turned to me, flicking wet hair from her face. "Have you been here since dawn?" We had the last storm then.

"Yeah." She sighed her reply and her posture slumped. "How are you feeling?" She sat down on the ground and leaned back, shifting half her weight onto her arms.

"Give me maybe two more days, I think."

"No, you need more than that. You need to get back in good condition if we're doing any fighting. I'm not just talking about the physical bit, either."

She had looked away from me; silence ensued as her words hanged in the air. "It'll probably do me some good to get back in action." I controlled my voice, pushing aside my sentiments for the time being. "Will you train with me, Oread?"

"Well, we're not doing much at the moment; Cain hasn't got any errands for us, nothing's threatening this place desperately –"

"Then why are you keeping this up?" I cut her off. It was a question that was constantly on my mind every time we battled, and here was the perfect opportunity to bring it up. "What's your goal? Now that we've lost the purpose for coming to Kurast, what's the point of this?"

She was still looking away from me, but had stopped the casual fidgeting of her toes.

"Oread?" I pressed on after a few seconds without a reply.

"Where I'm heading is the Pandemonium Fortress." She responded almost straightaway this time. "I have no idea how to get there, but I thought maybe I'd just go along and piece things together on the way. Where there are demons, there are clues as to Diablo's whereabouts."

"The Lord of Terror himself?" I asked, in a shriller voice than I had wanted. "Are you suicidal?!"

"No, I want to kill _Diablo_."

"Same difference!" I was shocked, and showing this candidly by now. "Pardon my rudeness, Master, but you're not the best warrior _and_ you like to do things solo, which doesn't help much."

"That's the same with Naiad."

She said it so cavalierly, that I was about to rant on before I bit back the words. "Who?"

"Putting it simply, I'm picking up the pieces. _Whose_ pieces, I'm not sure anymore." She tilted her head right back, and looked at me upside-down. Her emotions were again masked by her solid facial features – especially those unreal eyes. A small bug of annoyance buzzed inside me. "You're wearing your hair back."

"Oh, that." I ran my hand down my small ponytail, from the back of my head to about the middle of my neck. I remembered it was maybe down to my chin when I left Westmarch. By now it had grown past my shoulders. I could tolerate the dry scorching heat of Lut Gholein, but the humidity of Kurast just made it unbearable. "It's getting long and I don't like it when wet hair sticks to my neck."

"You look older this way." She jumped to her feet and swivelled around to face me. "Speaking of which, aren't your bangs covering your eyes?"

"No." At the reminder, I brushed my bangs to either side of my head from the parting on the left side.

"You better make sure they're not." Oread remarked, grimacing a little. "Where d'you get that hair tie from?"

"It was Falcon's spare one. I found it in her belongings." I realised the disrespect as I spoke the words, and guilt gnawed at my guts. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Even if she did, she can't do much about it now."

As good-natured as she tried to make it sound, it was such a dark, sinister thing to say. The gloom washed over me, and Oread immediately noticed.

"… I'm sure she wouldn't mind _that_, either."

Just like that, she killed off the previous topic of her true intentions for this journey, and brought the conversation so far away from it, that going back to it would not only be incongruous, but also unforgivably absurd. Though it was not as if she had brought the conversation anywhere better, anyway.

Just for a moment – okay, a _while_ – I hated her for everything.

* * *

Maybe it was to make up for what she said; Oread trained with me diligently over the next few days as my body remember the skills that it knew. She also taught me a few others, like Ice Arrow – a deadlier, more aggressive version of my Cold Arrow – and the spectacular Exploding Arrow. She tried to teach me the skill she called "Slow Missiles" again; and again, I just could not understand it. She was disappointed, but implied that she might try again another time. She herself did not use it much anymore, but she seemed convinced that I, being less agile than she was, would find it useful. 

This time, we had decided to call it a day as the sun descends beyond the horizon. Storm clouds gathered, looming over us; their dark opacity promising the threat of thunders.

As we entered the hut where the three of us – Oread, me and the girl she had… _affectionately _dubbed "Leaf" – slept, we expected to see it empty. Instead, a young woman stood at one window, leaning onto the frame, and inspecting something that she held in her hands.

I looked closer, and realised what it was. By then Oread had stormed up to the woman, snatched the short sword off her, and gave her a shove aside for good measure.

"Don't touch that!" She warned. Her voice was soft but ominous – like the thunderous clouds overhead.

"Sheesh," the woman exclaimed in feigned exasperation. "Nice greeting." She looked not much older that Oread, but was perhaps a little shorter, and with quite a narrower built; though her body was beautifully toned – muscular enough to announce her identity as a warrior, but curvy enough to retain her femininity. She seemed to be proud of that fact, with her tight black tube top, short skirt with disturbingly high slits at the sides, and knee-high boots perfectly contoured to her body, moulded closely over her pearly, pale skin. Her chestnut hair was very short and wavy; a stark contrast to her sharp, refined features: narrow light-olive eyes, narrow nose, thin lips, and long, thin eyebrows, all set perfectly on a heart-shaped face.

"It's extremely improper to touch the possessions of people you're not acquainted with." Oread retorted, the darkness in her voice unrelinquished. "Who are you?"

"My name's Natalya." The woman answered, and smirked in such a way that her lips thinned further.

"You're of the Vizjerei?" So Oread had picked this up just from her appearance.

"Formerly." She blinked irritatingly slowly. "All right, so we started on the wrong foot. That was rude of me to handle your sword. I apologise."

Maybe because I had been with Oread for a while, I immediately sensed that she changed the topic very deliberately; she had something to hide about her history with the Vizjerei, whatever it was. In any case, that was a question for another time.

"Apologise to _her_." Oread nodded in my direction. "It's hers."

Oread had shifted the attention onto me, and the tension eased. "It's all right!" I hurriedly assured, and added a smile to complement my words. "I'm Celadon, a Rogue mercenary from the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye, in Westmarch."

I looked at my master, who seemed not to have realised that she had not yet introduced herself. "Oh," she faced Natalya, "Oread, Amazon."

"So _you_'re the Amazon and her mercenary that Cain and Ormus were talking about." Ormus was an elder of some local ancient order who was obliged in guarding the city; he was stranger than Cain, and always uttered his words in such a way that made my head spin. "And all this time I was looking out for a platinum-blonde." Natalya continued. "You don't look very Amazonian. Anyway; care to join me in a stroll through these infested forests?"

"Unless I'm grossly mistaken, an Assassin such as yourself believes in working _alone_." Oread's voice was neutral – the kind that I did not like because it was too calm. "I think you'll understand if I tell you that I'm suspicious about your motives."

Natalya seemed not the least stunned or startled by this comment; she even managed a chuckle. "Very well." She replied good-naturedly. "We'll have to work on our own, then. Though I suppose if anyone sends us on an errand, we can still collaborate, right?"

"Whatever. We may not even stay here for long."

"Still." Natalya swatted off the comment with a few casual flicks of the hand. "I just thought Amazons like to work in groups. Is this mercenary your only companion, then?"

"We lost a few a while back." Oread said this without any emotion in her voice; as if she was talking about something inanimate.

Natalya was silent for maybe two or three seconds. "That's the way it works, huh?" She said; her smile was undiminished, but her eyes seemed to have softened, and darkened a bit, perhaps.

* * *

It was easy to identify the type of battling environment Kurast was, even just after a few hours of being initiated with the dense rainforest. 

Firstly, it was a battle ground that had no boundaries; only rivers cut off the routes of those in battle.

Secondly, as large as the place was, it was cramped. The forest reigned and went feral beyond the makeshift wooden fences and gates of the city. Visibility was horrible.

Thirdly, there were a _lot _of monsters.

The forest immediately adjacent the city was locally known as "Spider Forest", and rightfully so, too; though we saw no gigantic spiders reminiscent of those that once infested the Rogue Monastery, there were webs all over the forest floor, between the layers of leaf litter. I am no arachnophobe, but moving through the place was disgusting.

When we finally met up with some huge monsters that look like giant animated trees, both Oread and I had our patience worn thin by the hard trekking. We took them down mercilessly as they came to greet us, the intruders. Sure these animated trees were monsters, but this was their home and we were disrespectfully slashing through it. I really wondered what Falcon would do in this situation.

In any case, we disregarded their spirit and felled them like trees – excuse the lame pun – as we went deeper into the forest to investigate the place. They moved slowly, and the two of us, being ranged fighters, had no problem in killing them with a few ordinary arrows. Once Oread even fired an Immolation Arrow – a brilliant new skill of hers that caused the victim to burn furiously for a good few seconds – just for the spectacle of the monster going up in flames.

When we noticed a particularly strong aura emitting from a certain hulk, we were glad.

"You ready for this one, Celadon?"

"If I kill this one, can we call it a day?"

"If you deliver the killing blow, yes." Oread smirked as she let loose an Exploding Arrow. The monster roared and charged at us, a little more quickly.

I followed up the attacks with a few Ice Arrows, slowing it in its path. Beside me, Oread brought down two weaker monsters next to it.

I seemed to have really pissed the tree monster off, for it recovered from the chill and took a few huge strides towards me. I tried to back away, but the huge buttress roots of the trees meant that I could not retreat quickly without tripping over.

The monster swung a gigantic log of an arm down at me. I quickly parried the attack with my short sword. The impact knocked me backwards; I dropped my sword and landed onto the forest floor.

The monster moved closer – I could see the huge gashes and cleanly-sliced stumps of its limbs, clearly old wounds from previous battles with human invaders. Some of these stumps were healed over, leaving an ugly scar that looked like an infected, popped blister.

From a slit in its wooden face marred with twisted scars and ugly blemishes, it bellowed the sharp sound of grinding wood and hot air rushing. It brought down its other arm, and I got ready to sustain another blow, one that would probably be strong enough to knock me out, perhaps for good.

Then Oread's silvery-champagne hair flashed before me, and the blow landed onto my master's head. The skull was cracked, and blood ran freely. As I looked in horror, she remained standing with her back to me. The monster hit her again, and once more. She went down… her dark blood staining the brown layer of dead leaves beneath her mangled body.

I screamed, but not before the hulking mass of the foe crashed onto the ground, the loud rumble drowning out my voice. Hot steam hissed from the large corpse, and within two seconds it all stopped. The corpse was now no more than a burnt chunk of charcoal no more than a few feet in measurements. I looked about the ground, but my master's body was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, I thought my brain was going to shut itself down from thinking at all. I was _that_ confused. Oread was standing before me, unscathed save for a few bruises and scratches, her bow still held up from recent firing.

I gawked at her; my mouth failed to speak, but my eyes demanded an explanation.

"Ahh…" Oread grinned and smoothed her hair back with a hand. "I should've told you beforehand… that's something I've started to learn, but I can't keep it up for long."

I had no idea what just happened, and I did not want to try to understand it. Instead, I turned to examining the remains.

"You lost the bet, Celadon," Oread was saying, "but I guess that would be it for today; now that I've tried out that trick I really need to practice it a bit more… what's _that_?"

"Some kind of… jade sculpture?" I picked up the dense, strangely-shaped pale green stone. "I can't tell, it's kinda damaged."

"Anyway, take whatever that thing dropped and let's head back." She opened a Portal. She had been a lot more generous with Portals these days; I was not sure when she changed from her stingier ways, but it had been a huge improvement.

We brought the jade block to Cain, who, for once, had no idea what an object's history was. We were on the way back to our hut, arguing over whether we should just sell it to one of the merchants or auction it off between a few, when the young girl from the Harems walked up to us and stared at the disfigured figurine.

"Uhh, what do you think of this, Leaf?" Oread asked, after the girl stared silently, unmoving, for a few seconds.

The girl smiled brightly and took Oread's hand in her own, and led us away from the hut. With her back to me, I asked Oread where she was taking us. Oread replied with a shrug. Seriously, this girl might have lived a disturbing life, but even when I tried to sympathise, I still found her quite uncomfortably peculiar.

Take her transparent, colourless aura that I could barely make out, for example. And her eyes just scared me – they looked almost blood-red in the sunlight.

We ended up at the Kurast docks; Leaf pointed at Meshif's ship and tugged Oread's hand. "You want me to show Meshif this?" Oread asked. The girl beamed and nodded once energetically.

"Oh yes, I've got a collection of these!" Meshif exclaimed as he examined the figurine. "But one like this I've never seen before! The colour of the jade sure is exotic; and the design! See all the details here?" He pointed at a dirty spot, and in the dim twilight, I squinted to try and see what Meshif was going on about. I failed.

"Anyway, how much do we get for it?" Asked Oread. We had also talked about how we would blow the money if we sold it.

"I haven't got enough gold for this priceless piece." Meshif's eyes were still gleaming with excitement. "But I'll trade you! I've got here…" He went beneath the deck of his boat, rummaged around a bit, and returned with a golden figurine, this one nicely restored, and clearly in the shape of a small bird. "This is the Golden Bird of Ku Y'leh. It's said that once it was a symbol of life for some ancient tribe… I dunno. Gold figurines are not my expertise." He shoved the figurine into my hands. "Here, nice doing business with you."

"What do we do with _this_?" Oread called after him, but Meshif had swiftly disappeared back inside his boat, no doubt to admire the new addition to his jade collection.

"Great. We got rid of one, but we're stuck with another one." Oread crossed her arms in irritation, glaring towards the direction where Meshif's giddy whistling originated.

"At least this one seems prettier." I said, and realised how stupid I sounded after it came out of my mouth.

As tiresome as it was, we tried to ask Cain again. This time he had some clues. "Oh, I don't know much about ornamental items, but it would be an object of such interest to Alkor."

"Who?" I asked.

"Alkor, the alchemist to the north side of town. Haven't you been acquainted with him yet? You'd need him for your potions supplies. He's a scholar in ancient ornamental charms –"

"All right, thanks for the tip." Oread ran off before Cain could ramble on. Leaf immediately responded as well, grabbing my wrist and running after my master. It seemed that even Leaf, who could not hear, found Cain's incessant speeches droning.

"This is extraordinary indeed!" Alkor was equally excited by the golden figurine as Meshif was the jade figurine, though he did manage to compose himself much more quickly. "I'll have to do some reseach to fully understand the full significance of this piece of art, but this is so well-preserved, I can already get some ideas. Would you like to come by later, perhaps, so that I can tell you about this?"

"Um, no thanks." Oread quickly declined, perhaps a little too nervously, too; for Alkor seemed to have sensed her disinterest, and his smile faded a little. "You can have it if you want; Cain said you'd like it. If you do, we're willing to trade."

"Oh _sure_! This is an exquisite piece, after all. It's a shame that you don't have the interest in it." He summoned his smile again, even if it was just for the sake of being polite. Not like Oread cared, anyway.

"Soooo..." Oread cleared her throat. "What about what _we_ get?"

"Oh! Why yes, of course..." Alkor went back into his hut, muttering something under his breath.

Oread looked at me, her puzzled expression strangely childish. This time, it was my turn to shrug. It seemed that the people at Kurast were even more eccentric than those in Lut Gholein. Quite a few people already felt strangely Lysander-esque to me.

"Master Alkor?" I raised my voice and called for him after a minute or so without his reappearance.

"Here I am," he popped out from behind a nearby shelf, and made me jump about a foot into the air. Oread stared at me, an amused smile tugging at her lips; Alkor, however, did not seem to have noticed. "Now, I think this payment should be worthy enough. This is the Elixir of Life, brewed from the ancient recipe. It's a local secret, you know."

At the mention of the name of the multi-coloured, crystal-clear potion, the question rose in my throat; but by the time I had pulled my eyes from the potion and back to where Alkor stood, he was gone.

"What on earth –?"

"Don't worry about it, Celadon. You've had enough confusion for a day." Oread said, not at all reassuringly.

I turned back to her; she was holding the large flask of potion lower, so that Leaf could have a look at it. "So, this is what we'd originally sought after." The potion looked... enchanted, all right; from the bottom to the top was a spectrum of colours, from red to yellow to blue-green. When Oread swirled it a little, it looked like it had the consistency of water, but totally settled down within a second or so, with the colours still perfectly differentiated. "I hadn't thought that the process of getting it would be so... _anticlimactic_."

"Well, that's the way it goes." Oread took out a large bottle of blue mana potion, uncorked it and drained it. "You try so hard to get something, and when you finally get there, it doesn't seem so cool anymore." She poured half of the Elixir of Life into the empty glass bottle, and handed the remainder to me.

"No," I could not forget my position. I had, just a short while ago, but still... "you're my master, Oread. You should have it; or at least more of it."

"Well then," she rolled her eyes, "as your _master_, I order you to drink this."

_That _I could not argue with. I took the flask; even when the potion was separated into two parts, each part still preserved the beautiful rainbow of colour. I held the flask between my hands, and warmth seeped from the potion.

"Now this," Oread lifted her bottle of potion, "is to Falcon."

That struck me. I had not expected this from Oread. I managed to keep my hands steady, but my voice quivered. "To Falcon."

As I felt the warmth of life seep through my insides, down to the tips of my fingers, through every vein, the tears welled up. By the time I tipped the flask for the last drops, the tears had broken down the barricade of my eyelids. But these were different to the tears from before - they did not hurt so much, did not feel icy upon my skin.

I missed you, Falcon, I still do; but you would not want to hold anyone back, in life or death. That was what I finally understood then.


	29. Chapter 24: Spar

Woe to me! I promised myself I wouldn't write ahead... and here I am, having written ahead! I've already written the next chapter but it'll take some refining and stuff... so expect to wait, still.

This is finished at three in the morning. So if you find any mistakes, by all means point them out, but please sympathise...

I have also started a Deviantart account. You can find the link on my profile page. I've only got two deviations, both from this 'fic, one of which is a scene from this chapter.

Again, as ever, I am in debt to my reviewers. You guys make my day!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Diablo, Blizzard does; but this screwed-up version of Natalya is mine. MINE!!

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**Spar**

* * *

"A gibbon?" Oread asked, eyebrows cocked in childish confusion. "Why are we out to find some monkey?" 

"The _Gidbinn_." Hratli the sorcerer-turned-blacksmith sighed and continued in his soft voice – one that is easily missed should the mind wander. "Ancient, sacred blade of Skatsimi. She has the ability to restore the crumbling enchantment placed over this city. It would do much good if you will retrieve it."

Oread, Natalya and I looked at each other; Leaf looked on from my side, her small hand clinging onto my belt.

"I'm not finding a stupid blade." Natalya refused uncouthly.

"I dunno what Natalya owes you, but Celadon and I don't owe you anything, and we're not risking our life for some piece of metal with a weird name." Oread was equally nonchalant about the idea.

"Then why do you still dwell here, traveller?" Asked Ormus, in his dreary tone.

"I have no idea, actually; but now that you've reminded me, I'll try and find one soon."

"Oread, I know we can trust you on this." Cain's tone was close to begging. "We've recently confirmed that a mysterious wanderer around here is the weakened form of Diablo himself, occupying the body of one who slain him years ago–"

"Where is he?" Oread had cut Cain off, her voice deep, dark and dead-serious.

Everyone was taken aback by her sudden shift of attitude. Leaf gripped my clothes with both hands and Cain stuttered some strange sounds before he managed to get proper words out. "He's… gone now. No trace of him."

"Damn it all!" Oread shouted and stamped her foot on the ground; Natalya sidestepped away from her.

"… Though we _do_ have some ideas why he was here. We think that he was seeking to revive his brother, Mephisto, Lord of Hatred. He was sealed many years ago by Khalim, a powerful Zakarum Priest who was able to avert from Mephisto's corruption. He'd sealed Mephisto within the holy temple of Travincal, inside the central Guardian Tower. The seal and sacred land itself held Mephisto in a powerless state–"

"Right, right. So now it's not working so well anymore and it's all gonna blow in our faces if we don't do anything. What do you want us to do?" Oread was impatient, and eager anticipation shimmered in her eyes, which scared me quite a bit, frankly.

"I thought you didn't owe this city. Why are you so willing to carry out this difficult task?" Hratli did a bad job of containing a smirk, and hastily rubbed his chin to divert attention.

His words seemed to bite physically into my master, who flinched and narrowed her eyes as a visual threat. "Would you rather have me not so?"

Cain was not taking the tension well, and attempted to ease it. "Mephisto used the Compelling Orb, an artefact of dark magic, to overtake the Zakarum followers. Now that he's begun to regain his powers, the corruption had once again overtaken the Travincal, as he tries to completely break the seal upon him. If you get past the corrupted council members of the temple and destroy the Compelling Orb, you should be able to access the place where Mephisto's imprisoned."

"And how do we do _that_?" Oread just would not let the old Horadrim stop until she got what she wanted out of him.

"Khalim used a magical flail to weaken Mephisto before sealing him in his prison, and the flail had since been safeguarded at the temple; that is, until the corruption started again." Cain ran a hand over his face; the old man was scared as he remembered all the horrifying details of the story, I realised, and felt a little sorry for him. "The flail should have lost most of its powers due to both Mephisto and Diablo's powers. One way we can think of that may restore its powers is to gather Khalim's relics and fuse them to his weapon using the Horadric Cube."

"So where are these relics?" Oread pushed on.

"… Khalim had no possessions, and he died a very violent death amongst monsters in these forests."

Oread visibly paled. Natalya shifted her weight onto her other leg, staring at Oread out of the corner of her eye with an amused grin.

"Don't tell me… you want us to go out there and find his guts?!" Oread was annoyed now, and her eyes seemed a little sad, a little hopeless.

"Oh, we don't know how much of his body we'll need to restore the weapon's powers…" Cain rubbed between his eyes.

"Wouldn't they have rotted by now?"

"A priest of Khalim's virtue might have the honour of their body exempted from being reclaimed by the earth."

"Now… that's even worse." Oread's expression was a mix of disgust and defeat. "That's just disgusting."

"As petty as it seems, I'd rather go for the blade now." Said Natalya.

"It mightn't be the guts, you know." Hratli chimed as Cain trailed off. "It could be eyes, brain, lungs, heart, kidneys–"

"You can stop now. I'm gonna go and get on with that anyway." Oread spun around, accompanying the movement with an aggravated grunt.

As I turned to follow my master, I could hear Hratli's smirk in his voice. "So Natalya, I suppose you'll have to make do with going after the Gidbinn."

"I'm not doing that boring errand and trudging through the place by myself!" Natalya protested loudly. "Oread! Can I join you?"

"No. Didn't you just say that you'd rather do the boring errand?"

"Come on, I want some company. Why do you want go for the bits of Khalim anyway? Can't I help?"

"That's none of your business and no thank you."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because," Oread shot a cold glance over her shoulder. "I don't like you, and I'm not prepared to follow an Assassin's orders."

Oread turned back, but as she was about to take another step, Natalya grabbed her by the shoulder. By Oread's soft utterance as she stopped, Natalya gripped hard. "I'm _not_ an Assassin anymore, and I'm not gonna put up with the way you're treating me. You don't trust me, fine; but at least respect me as a warrior."

When Oread's head turned slowly towards Natalya's face, there was no fear in her eyes, just cold defiance. "Once an Assassin, always an Assassin – that's the way the Vizjerei and other orders like the Zakarum and the Zann Esu works; yet you betrayed your order and did so again just then as you refuted what you are. That's enough reason for me to assume that you lack the commitment and loyalty of a warrior."

I had never heard my master speak like this, with such loathing. "Please, Oread. Natalya, why don't we discuss this later–"

"Why don't we sort it out now?" Natalya smiled, but her eyes were like daggers. "I may no longer be of the Vizjerei, but I still know a few tricks of the trade."

"We're on the same side, aren't we? Oread, stop this!" I was anxious; the fuse has been lit, and I had no idea how much explosive there was.

Oread just retained her iciness as Natalya's smile widened, brandishing her straight, white teeth. "I've heard about the so-called 'passive skills' of the Amazonian arts, and I've always wondered how it measures up to the martial arts of Vizjerei."

Oread's eyes enlarged briefly, but I did not miss her shock. Natalya's way of tackling the dispute was unexpected. "What are you saying? Don't tell me–"

"Come on, Oread. This is a friendly way to sort this out." Natalya's posture straightened out a little; she lifted her chin and looked Oread in the eye. "What say you?" Her smile faded. "Give me a chance to earn your respect. To be honest, I think the converse applies."

I had never thought that Natalya would say such things straight up – even more unembellished than Oread's speech. My master was visibly taken aback as well. "Natalya, I..." Her eyelids drooped, and a smile stretched across her lips. "Fine. You got it. We'll have a civil spar. Just for the sake of 'sharing our own arts', right?"

"Yep." Natalya's eyes narrowed, gleaming.

I was about to rebuke my master's decision when I felt a pull about my waist. I looked back at Leaf, and she was shaking her head, her eyes shining in anticipation.

I sighed, knowing that I had no say in this matter to begin with. Oread can be so immature sometimes.

* * *

"So, shall we remind everyone of the rules again?" Natalya asked, putting her hands upon her hips. For the fight, she had added guards for the forearms and wrists, a belt, and kneepads to her casual attire. 

"No magic, no weapons, no metaphysical stuff." Oread stood opposite Natalya, strapping a length of cloth around her hands and wrists, as she did before we went out to battle. "Loser is the one who surrenders, or is knocked out, or forced outside of this confined zone as defined by the crowd." She finished, clasped her hands behind her and looked around at the crowd that had gathered, populating the usually-barren early-morning marketplace. "Have I covered everything?"

"You also lose if you kill the other person." Natalya added.

"That's a useless rule, and it doesn't make sense." She bowed her head.

"It's there for the sake of etiquette." Natalya stretched. "We're not _intending_ to kill, remember?"

"Oh yes." Oread lifted her head; her eyes would be levelled with Natalya's if she had them open. She did not speak after that.

After a few tense moments, Natalya had sensed the commencement of the fight.

Then, like a flash, she leapt up to Oread, and swung a kick to her head.

Oread ducked casually. Her eyes snapped open as Natalya sank low to sweep at her feet. Oread bounced off her hands and landed beside Natalya. The latter retaliated by swinging her elbow at Oread's face; Oread bent back a little, the elbow gliding past, and rammed her shoulder into Natalya's unguarded ribcage.

The former-Assassin dissipated most of the force by moving her upper body in the same direction of the blow. She landed on her hands, did a cartwheel-type trick as her legs kicked upwards, potentially giving Oread a double-uppercut.

I did not see Oread's move clearly, but her feet moved backwards and she seemed to slither away from the attacks. Then her foot slid forward in a huge stride, as she advanced again. By the time Natalya had landed on both feet, Oread was in front of her.

As she swiped at Natalya's face with an opened hand, it was Natalya's turn to dodge. Her right arm reached behind Oread; then as Oread's body moved forward, she slammed on Oread's back with her forearm. When Oread's body was past Natalya's waist, the latter's right knee came up and caught Oread in the guts.

There was a shocked exclamation in the audience as Oread fell onto the stone floor, wheezing. Natalya turned to her and smiled. Oread coughed twice, and then managed a grin. "This would be so much more convenient if I could use my Inner Sight."

"Are you admitting defeat?"

"Bite me, bitch." Oread got on her feet again.

Natalya was visibly enraged by Oread's provocation; she let out a shout and launched a fist at Oread's midsection. Oread allowed herself to fall backwards; as the fist skimmed past her from above, she hit the ground with her hands and shoulders, and her legs shot up.

She locked Natalya's wrist around her ankles, and rolled backwards. Natalya, her momentum continuing to move her forward, was pulled along and managed a forward flip to stop from smashing her face onto the floor as Oread's roll was completed. Meanwhile, Oread had launched off the floor and smashed into Natalya from the back, before the latter could turn around. As Natalya stumbled, Oread kicked her in the back of the left knee, and Natalya was forced to kneel.

Oread's other leg came down fast onto her head, and while the crowd held their breath, Natalya looked surprisingly calm. She reached up with her right hand; her fingers locked around Oread's ankle, and tightened.

A yelp came from Oread as her assault was instantly nullified. Natalya stood and swung around, still gripping onto Oread' ankle, then threw a punch with her left fist at Oread's face. Oread caught that with an open hand; in the meanwhile, Natalya had let go of Oread's ankle, and her right fist slammed straight into my master's guts.

Oread staggered backwards, swaying a little, but stayed on her feet. "Whatever happened to the supposedly 'friendly' nature of this fight…" She broke off, coughing into one hand, her other hand over her midsection.

"I'm sorry; I'd expected that you'd be able to counter that one." Natalya smirked, not a hint of remorse in her voice. "I'd expected you to realise when an attack's only a diversion for something more powerful."

"Damn you…" Oread's body shook as she coughed again, then she collapsed.

The crowd was silent. Natalya strode up to Oread and looked at the open palm of the hand that she coughed into – the white material that Oread had strapped her hand up with was stained red. Natalya took another half-step and stopped.

"I win, Oread." Seeing my master out cold, she smiled heartily.

Then Oread's hand moved. Out of the corner of her eye Natalya must have noticed it, but her reaction came a little late. The hand clamped down onto her left foot, and the force got stronger as Oread shifted her entire weight onto her hands. She pushed herself off the ground in a handstand, her leg straightening out, her eyes opened and aiming –

The kick hit Natalya square in the jaw. Meshif, who had come for the spectacle of the spar, caught her as she fell back into the crowd. Natalya straightened out and glared angrily, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she rubbed her bruised jaw.

I looked back at my master, and found her lying on the ground again. My Inner Sight told me that she really was unconscious this time.

"So… who won?" Asked Asheara – the buxom, scantily-clad leader of the Iron Wolves of Kurast – her dreadlocked-ponytail trailed wildly in the air as she inquired those around her.

"I suppose it's… a draw." Hratli finally concluded. His voice was almost drowned out by the intensifying murmurings of the crowd.

"She cheated!" Natalya shouted.

"It was as what you have said unto her, Natalya. Your preparation fell short." Ormus spoke up; the chattering quietened a little. "You, formerly of the Vizjerei, now of the Khral-Harzhek… your vigilance was blunted by conceit."

Leaf and I got up to Oread, and she came around when Leaf touched her. "It was a draw, Oread." I explained.

"Damn… if only I'd stayed up for a little longer." She tried to get up, then gave up and just sat. "Natalya, I guess the only way this is gonna work is a swap."

Natalya walked up to us, and crouched down so that she could look her rival in the eye. "No, I'll pass on gathering the body parts of a dead priest. I'm stuck here until my superiors are satisfied, so I'll just have to make do with the damn blade."

"Then why d– _OW_!"

Two large hands had given both Oread and Natalya a sound smack on the back of the head. I looked up and saw Asheara, her face furious as her hands returned to her hips. She was quite tall to begin with, but from this low level, she was… _looming_ over us.

I heard a gulp from Leaf, before Asheara's deep voice bellowed. "What was the point of that fight?" She was in her mid-thirties, and had already established herself as both a tough mother figure and a friend amongst our company. Right now, she was the former. "You're on the same side, and that fight didn't even change anything! What if one of you _did_ get killed, huh?"

"But we didn't." Natalya retorted, rubbing her head gingerly. A bruise was deepening into a faint violet smudge on her chin.

"It was more of a… personal matter that we sorted out." Oread smiled. "I still wouldn't work with you, but I guess I can trust you to stay alive out there."

"Speak for yourself." Came the reply, but Natalya's smile was genuinely well-meant.

"Whatever!" Asheara snorted and started walking off. "I'm not taking care of _those_ injuries. You broke it, you fix it."

While Ormus healed with magic, prayers and blessings, Asheara was the most practical healer of the city. She took care of us when we first arrived here. As she stomped away angrily, Oread and Natalya made almost-identical grimaces.

* * *

Two days later, we set out towards the Spider Forest again. Natalya went on ahead, having heard news from Hratli that the Gidbinn was possibly in the jungles beyond. 

We found an eye, bloody with bits of muscle, nerve and dirt-caked fat tissues still attached, and radiating off a silvery-white aura, in the caverns beneath the Spider Forest. By the time we got out, the sun was about fully set, and rain clouds had gathered overhead. Oread insisted that we go on ahead, and see what else we could find, but we only ended up in a stinking marsh, the sky dark and storming above us.

We had decided to head back when we found ourselves caught up in battle. There were demons with the small nimble bodies of tribal children, and, like the carvers in Westmarch, they had their associated shamanic summoners that could bring them back to life. They were fast and agile, and a lot of the time even our arrows were not fast enough. Oread's Immolation Arrows worked well for a while, but by the time we finally managed to buy enough time to get the hell out of there before another monster jumped on us, she was exhausted. _I _was exhausted. Trudging around in mud was hard work, made all the more difficult by the persistent downpour.

Then, just as Oread had started to chant the incantations for a Portal, she froze. The sharp spark of awareness returned to her eyes, and she looked intently into the dense vegetation.

I followed her gaze and saw a skeleton, the bones of a natural ivory, neither bleached by magic nor tainted by time. It was missing the right arm and a large chunk of the right collar bone and shoulder blade. The lower ribs on the left were cracked; the left side of the pelvis had deep scratches in it.

Falcon's; there was someone else behind the skeleton.

"Bloody summoning bastards." Oread cursed in her dangerous tone. She threw me her weapons. "I'm gonna rip that monster apart with my own hands."

_Crimson _flashed in my vision, filled my nostrils and down my throat.

Running up to the enemy with unexpected speed, she threw a punch to its face with her right hand. There was a low groan as it collapsed. Falcon's bones shattered into large, splintery fragments.

The sound of the groan concerned me; summoning up my remaining reserve of mana, I cast Inner Sight as Oread kicked at the foe's stomach.

_Damn_.

I got up to Oread as fast as I could, and grabbed her about the waist as I lost my balance at the last few steps. Her next kick stopped mid-strike as she fought for balance. "Stop it, Oread!" I pleaded. This was bad.

"This thing used Falcon's body, Celadon!" She yelled into my ear.

"Oread, listen to me." I panted against her struggles. "Firstly, he's already injured before you hit him." I explained, trying my best to hold her back, and wondered how she would react as I continued –

"Secondly, I think he's human."

Oread's jerking stopped instantly; for a whole two seconds, she stared motionlessly at the huddled shape on the ground. When she turned to me, her expression was one of blank, innocent fear.

Her eyes met mine; they were a little widened, and strangely shiny.

"_Shit_."


	30. Chapter 24 and a half: Crossing Paths

Thanks to the reviewers again!

This is posted early because of Emmelyn's awesomeness. In exchange, you should go and have a look at her 'fic. And review! Review mine too! Do check out my DeviantArt account… I've got some stuff up there that may be of interest.

Firstly, a few **definitions**:

Tiden – "time" in Swedish.

Kaira – from "kairos", "time" in Greek

Nyhl – a play-around on the word "nihil". Pronounced like "Nile".

Arawn – Lord of the underworld, called Annwn, in Welsh mythology.

And the **disclaimer**:

I don't own Diablo. Some characters are mine and forever will be.

Onwards!

* * *

**Chapter 24.5**

**Crossing Paths**

**

* * *

**

Black. Even, timeless, senseless black that I'm grateful for; I savour it, knowing that it won't last.

Sure enough; the colours come, dancing in the black haze. I remember – Tiden and Kaira fought and fell… the amount of blood, body heat draining away… and… oh gods, the poison. Not the sick, numbing, magically-conjured poisons… organic poison – alternating streams of burns and chills rip through the totally-aware body, forcing it to succumb to its throttling.

Pain shoots through, like a thousand stabs all at once. My right side feels like it's being repeatedly stretched and crushed. I scream out – I think… voices and sounds of running –

"Hold him still!"

"Can't you drug him?"

"There're enough chemicals in him already; more could kill him…"

I clench my jaws as blood stream from inside me. The blood chokes me, and as I cough my right side feel like it's… erupting. The pain gets worse… then back to the blessed unconsciousness.

The other senses kick back in. The light hurts even closed eyes. An incredibly bitter taste sticks in the back of my parched throat – mixture of bile and something sticky and thick. Gods, my right arm… it's on fire; stomach a twisted knot of sick acid burns; right side of the chest threatens to burst into flame with every breath. My lower back and abdomen burn evenly, incessantly, that the exact location of the injury can't be pinpointed.

Are these the fires of Hell? That'd be right, for my incompetence, my weakness… for watching my comrades die. There's a dull twinge in the left side of my jaw… petty compared to the rest of the signals my body's sending to my brain, but it's so damn annoying…

That's right, that woman who came up to me, and caught me in the hinge of the jaw. That's it… I went down, there was another kick in the stomach for good measure, and… I can't remember anything then.

So I'm not dead; where am I then? Still the humid stench of decaying leaves, but a hint of saltiness, too. I'm lying… above soft layers of smooth fabric, under a thin blanket.

Something shifts; I can feel it in my back – through whatever I'm lying on – and the air. My eyes open, and took their time to focus; a roof made out of wood and large, dried brown leaves. This is a hut of some sort; the walls, floor and pillars are all wooden.

"About time." A voice to the right; a woman, surely, with a dark huskiness in her voice that's hardly noticeable beneath the biting sharpness of a low overtone.

I try to form words, but my voice box is too slack. What came out was a half-moan, half-grunt.

"This is the city of Kurast." So I'm here. This isn't the way I planned to arrive, but regardless… "It's been over two days since we hauled your bloody ass back here."

I try to think of something to say, but only manage to form two words: "Thank you." It's no more than a dull croak.

"Hmph." She utters that exclamation with an unusually deep nasal resonance, as if it was a word worthy of emphasis. "Asheara and Ormus are the ones who took all those bits of missiles out, realigned your bones, closed up the holes in your body and stitched you back together." Oh yes, on top of those large ones that stabbed me a few times, there were those darn midget monsters, fast with their poisonous blowguns... and were there arrows at some point? "I only enjoyed the view from the side. Damn gross, though, especially when they shoved your bones back into your arm and chest; of course, you'd decided to regain a bit of consciousness then, too. Bastard."

So that's why it hurt like that before, and hurts like this now. I didn't see it myself when I was hit; it was too dark, and I'm glad for that now. I try to shift a little, towards the voice.

The pain isn't as bad as I'd braced myself for. Across to the wall and there she is, the young woman who brought me down after I got pass all those monsters, sitting under a window in a nonchalant, rather unladylike posture. She's unarmoured, wearing a short, sleeveless plain grey dress that looked ripped at the hems, black tights and leather boots that she'd unlaced at the top. I squint as I try to make out her facial features, but her face was a little too far away.

I do recognise the long, silvery-champagne hair, though. "You were the one who gave me those potions?"

"Darn straight. I didn't give you those so you can stay alive and whine. Get better soon so I can kick your ass." She speaks the words lightly, but her tone gets deeper; I can actually feel the threat in her words.

"May I ask… what do you have against me?"

She gets up and walks to my side, her solid steps echoing through the wooden floorboards. Keeping her legs straight, she placed her hands on her hips and bent over me. Our faces are about two feet apart, and my eyes focus on her face – chin-length bangs frame her hard facial features: large but rather angular eyes, deep-green at the top and gradually progresses to dull-gold, and then dark-brown at the bottom. A straight-bridged nose and full, pale lips. Her tanned skin looks to originally be a light olive not unlike my own.

That face looks down onto me, superior and dead-serious. "I believe you used the body of my former comrade." Her voice is cold; the words roll along like icy waves. "That's rather disrespectful, isn't it, jerk?"

Oh, _that_. I'm not much of a summoner, but when one's running on empty and comes across a ripped-up body on the riverbed… So that was what the beating was for. "I was desperate; I'm sorry."

She shifts her shoulders back a little and a long, loosely-braided plait falls over her right shoulder. The end of her plait is only about three inches from my throat; perhaps it's because my head's still groggy, but it's almost like she was holding me at knife-point. "That's all right; I still owe you a beating."

I consider explaining to her what happened, but that's for another day – when she's calmed down a bit and I'm less lethargic. Meanwhile, my brain recovers a bit, and I find myself wondering about her eyes. Two-toned eyes, one colour at the top and another at the bottom are a unique, but not very distinct trait of my people. Mine are bright-blue at the top and soft-grey at the bottom, though I rarely ever see such contrasting colours like green and brown. That's apart from the one I'm sent after; now _he_ has eyes like that–

Wait, who _is_ this girl? This is crazy of me… she can't be related to him. His children were killed years ago, during the war. No living relatives, either.

Anyway… "May I ask for the name of the one who saved my ass, then? I'm Nyhl."

"I didn't save you; a girl named 'Celadon' did. I'm Oread, of the Amazonian tribe." _Shit_. Amazons… those women who were involved with the war that the rest of the Sanctuary knows not much about.

Paladins of the Zakarum hate us – everyone knows that; but we loathe the Amazons and the Amazons abhor us. That's a secret preserved only in the last generation, my parents'. From the fact that the rest of the Sanctuary seem to be ignorant of the war, the Amazons have kept it a war of a single generation, too. There were no stories to be told to the children about this. It was a shameful, disgraceful battle for both peoples.

I only know about it because I was born two years after the war began, and it ended by the time I was six. I wonder if this woman's old enough to have experienced even a little bit of it.

Still, suspicions aside, her eyes are exceptional; and her physique is a little lighter-built, her skin of a cooler colour, and her hair duller than the typical Amazon. "You don't look like an Amazon."

"Well, _you_ don't look like a Necromancer, either." Straightaway, she retorts.

"Then how did you know I'm a Necromancer?"

"Uh, you feel like one?" She says it really curtly but… what does she mean? She can _feel_ my Necromancer blood? "Besides, there _is_ that tiny detail of the summoned skeleton–"

"Does the name 'Arawn' mean anything to you?" Can't hurt to ask, however stupid it sounds. Her eyes look so much like his.

She straightens up a bit, and cocks her head – which is rather… cute – before frowning and narrowing her eyes, obscuring the dark-brown sections. "No. What the heck?"

"Don't worry. My mistake." Damn… spit-fire aggressive. I try to sit up and the pain explodes. Nausea washes over me and I fall back, trying my best to bite back the groan; it comes out as a dull grunt.

"Don't try anything funny. I don't want to hear your whinging." Oread sits down on the floor cross-legged. "Asheara and Ormus said you should stay still for a couple of days at least. They shoved all these antidote and potions down your throat, but there's still a bit of poisons left in you. You'll just have to wait it out." She leans forward, her eyes locked onto my face, as if she's trying to read every tiny expression. "So, what business do you have here?"

"I came with my teacher and step-sister; both perished in battle." It seems so unreal that it's the truth; maybe that's why I'm so calm about it… it'll bite back soon, though, once I've recovered enough to think about all this clearly, perhaps. "We're after one named 'Arawn'. He was a gifted Necromancer who betrayed his people and was to be killed, but he escaped. We've heard rumours that he's travelling, going around and learning the arts of others, but this is the first time in sixteen years that we've got some solid clue – he's far up north somewhere." My bruised jaw's aching from speech, but Oread's eyes are so fierce, I don't dare stop. "Guess we got off on the wrong shore. Outnumbered, ill-prepared… You can guess the rest."

Oread contemplates, and opens her mouth to speak; but before anything comes out, there's a small knock. Standing at the door is a girl who looks to be in her late teens. Her amber eyes were large and gentle; dark-reddish-brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail and bangs neatly swept to either side of her head. She has on a simple but elegant dark-brown shirt trimmed with golden tread, matching brown pants, and neatly-laced boots.

"Umm…" Her hand plays with something dangling off the front of her choker around her neck. She looks at Oread, seeking approval to speak on, then smiles sweetly at me. "You're awake. Do you feel well?"

"I'm all right." I force a grin, despite my body scolding me for lying.

"This is Celadon, a Rogue who claims to be my mercenary and the one who stopped me from killing you." Oread nods at her as the younger girl sit beside her master. "Celadon, this is Nyhl, a Necromancer."

"Nice to meet you properly, sir." The young Rogue greets politely. One of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye was one of the three who slain Diablo years ago, and as a fellow Rogue, this one lacks the cockiness of her fellow sisters that I've met or heard about before. Her smile fades. "I must say, I didn't appreciate you using Falcon's body like that, but you must have been in a tight situation." Her eyes got sadder; this girl feels like a really genuine person.

"I apologise for the disrespect." I finally manage to get up on one elbow; my right arm's bandaged and splinted to the point that it won't budge. "So, Falcon… a former comrade."

"She was a Druidess who loved life." Celadon's expression is bittersweet. "She died at sea while we were on the way here for the cure to her grievous injuries… in turn she saved the rest of us." Her eyes shift and look into mine; I notice the sheen of tears. "I've collected her bones and we're cremating them soon… anyway. I wouldn't have guessed that you're a Necromancer, sir."

"Just call me Nyhl." This girl's very pleasant, but she needs to loosen up a little. "I'm sure it's my hair that made you think otherwise?" My hair's raven-black, unlike the "full-blooded" Necromancers' white, silver or pale-blonde. There's apparently some in-breeding business concerning that trait; then some of my great-grandparents' generation started marrying people not of our clan… Long story short, I'm only five-eighths "full-blooded".

"Yeah, and I thought you're quite young for someone who's into the business of death." The girl smiles amiably again. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Twenty-two."

"Wow!" Celadon exclaims, her eyes widening.

"I'm only an apprentice–" I pause as I realise that I no longer have a teacher.

"I though Necromancers were all… you know, old." The girl chuckles good-naturedly.

"Oh, but there are a lot of young and handsome ones out there, too." Said a smooth, velvety, almost dreamy voice.

This voice belongs to a slim but muscular woman; her skin pale, her features sharp and defined. She strolls over, scanty black outfit displaying her feminine curves. She flicks her short chestnut hair as she stops beside Celadon, and stays standing.

"Assassin." Under my breath. Amazons may be fearsome, Paladins may be difficult, but Assassins of the Vizjerei are just… ugh, _annoying_. I've narrowly gotten away from one before, and heard many stories about them from my friends. It seems like they just… strangely, _identify_ with us or something. Not many would trust a member of the Vizjerei, but perhaps it's the whole "mysteriousness and dark" stereotype… of all people, they seem to like latching onto Necromancers.

Oread's eyebrows twitch, and I can sense her annoyance, too. "Nyhl, this is Natalya."

"Natalya, I'm sorry, but I may not quite fulfil your criteria."

"Oh, you do well enough." She laughs, rather shrilly.

I'm being surrounded by three women… Celadon is uptight but seems nice enough, Oread is… hopefully tolerable; but Natalya… this kind of women's like sickly-sweet potions that sticks in your throat and leaves a horrid aftertaste. Like Kaira's grandmother. Ugh!

"Your laughter is painful to the ear, Natalya." Oread almost grunts this through gritted teeth. "Please; he only just woke up from being shredded by monsters. I'm sure he can do without your shrieking."

"I see… so my presence in this hut has turned the 'company' into a 'crowd'… All right, Oread. Here's the mutual respect we agreed on." Natalya spins around on the heel of her boot of black, skin-tight leather, grinning somewhat satisfactorily to herself. "I'll be off to see Asheara or someone… hope to see you out and about soon, Nyhl." She goes off.

"Thanks." I sigh in relief.

"I just don't want you to have a mental breakdown and kill yourself. I can't stand her attitude. I don't suppose you'd do any better in your condition." Oread's smiling; whether from relief or triumph, I'm not sure.

"Should you really talk to her like that…?" Asks Celadon, looking worried.

"She doesn't mind; besides, it's good for her." Oread gets to her feet. "We should go, Celadon. We'll bring you something to eat and tell Ormus and Asheara so they can come and check on you, Necromancer."

"… Thanks."

"We should bring Leaf over as well. What do you think, Celadon?"

"I think Nyhl needs his rest." Celadon replies, catching up with her master.

"You might be able to figure the girl out a bit more, or something." Oread turns back to me. "She's apparently half-Zann Esu… y'know, Sorceress."

"What's the other half?"

"Demon." Oread and Celadon exit the room.

And I'm left here to think about this situation I'm in, the people I'm with…

This is going to be one hell of a company.


	31. Chapter 25: Abstract Acquaintance

Thanks to all you reviewers! I'm really surprised how much people like Nyhl, really. Thanks for all the encouragement!

There's a link on my profile page to my DeviantArt account, where you can see more of my characters; I do understand, however, if you're scared that my artistic incompetence will ruin your established imageries associated with the characters. XD

Here goes, then. And do forgive me… one can only take so much gore-writing before one's mind becomes irreversibly tainted. I'm not ready for that yet. Or I'm just too incompetent to hack it. Whatever.

**Disclaimer: **_Diablo _is not mine. I am not commissioned for this work… I'm not commissioned for any of the stuff that takes up my "study" time and ends up as procrastination, really.

* * *

**Chapter 25**

**Abstract Acquaintance**

* * *

"You don't seem to be getting on so well with people, these days." I said to Oread as we walked from Nyhl's room. 

"'These days'?" Oread exclaimed. "What makes you say that? Have I changed?"

"No, it's just that you seem a lot more… hyped up, lately." I chose my words carefully.

"I need to do that to be able to counter Natalya." Oread replied after a moment of thought.

"What about Nyhl? You're still going to beat him up after he heals?"

"He used Falcon's body, Celadon."

"I'm sure Falcon wouldn't like it if you're gonna hold a grudge against a stranger for her sake." I turned to Oread, and looked into her eyes, trying to read her. There was no anger that I could see. "Oread… you're not _really_ gonna beat him up, are you?"

Oread shot me a look, and then looked away immediately. Too late; I already caught that glimpse of uneasiness in the slight shift of her brows, the quick dart of her eyes. "You're not." I smiled triumphantly.

"It'd be too much of a hassle anyway." Oread's words were spoken a little too quickly. "Besides, he's not like Natalya; he seemed to have understood me well enough just by words."

"So… you're friendly with him now?"

"In any case, he's still stuck in bed."

"You mean you're gonna let him join us once he's recovered."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Celadon." Oread glanced at me grumpily, but there was none of the fearsomeness that I had seen before. I smiled even more widely and Oread thwacked me softly on my head. "You've gotten cheekier, haven't you? Has Natalya rubbed off on you?"

"No, I've just gotten a lot less…" I tried to find the right words. "_Scared_ of you, that's all."

"That sounds like a bad thing."

"Not necessarily so." I could not stop the grin that was continuously widening on my face. "You feel more like my third elder sister now; you used to feel like my eldest sister."

Oread turned to me, confusion and childlike-disappointment written across her face. "I didn't know you had siblings."

"Well, everyone in the Sisterhood call each another 'sisters', anyway." The glorious days of the Rogues loomed into my memory; it was a pleasant thought. "From what I know my mother left my three blood brothers with my father when she joined the Sisterhood. She brought my four blood sisters with her, and was pregnant with me."

"Goodness." Oread tilted her head back and said exasperatedly. "How many children did you mother have?"

"My mother was a chaste woman, Oread. There were eight of us." This was no more than a blurry acknowledgement. I had no distinct memory of my blood family… it just seemed like a petty matter amongst the big family of the Sisterhood.

"So what were your sisters like?" Oread looked at me again. She was genuinely interested; it was probably the first time I had seen her care about me in such a way. "I think I deserve to know the ones you compared me to."

"My eldest sister was a tough warrior. I heard that before the Monastery fell, she was a Captain, like Kashya." I tried hard to remember, taking care not to mix people up. "My second sister… I can't remember much about her. She was a sickly person and she passed away when I was maybe three or four."

I thought of my third sister, and a warm feeling welled up into my chest. I felt myself beam brightly. "My third sister was a scholar. She's watched over me and taught me many things since my mother and eldest sister were lost amongst the chaos of the Monastery. She only passed away three years ago… some freak accident that happened at the river. I'm not sure if she was attacked or something, but apparently she broke her neck, and that was it."

"Wow." Oread was contemplative. "And your fourth sister?"

"Me and her… we've never really gotten along, but you might have seen her around. She didn't get along with my mother either; she calls herself 'Flavie'."

"Oh yeah, I remember her. The guard near the walls bordering the wilder lands, right? She pretty much _made_ me go into that horrid, stinking hole and clean it out."

I was shocked. "She did? She's supposed to warn you –"

"She told me to turn back before I get killed in that place. It's got such a corny name too… 'Den of the Devils' or something? Anyway, her voice and attitude pissed me off, so I went ahead and kicked the crap out of that place… It was kind of fun."

_Now_ Oread felt like Flavie. "Well… anyhow, that's it for me." Seeing that Oread was in a good mood, I risked it as we strolled about along the boardwalks. "Is it _your_ turn to be storyteller, Oread?"

"What?" Her eyes shifted to me, and a hint of iciness returned. I was silenced and about to dismiss the topic, but she went on before me. "I don't have your kind of memory, Celadon. I think the furthest back I can remember is… when I'm about, say… seven."

"That's… sorry, but I must say that's, um, pretty bad." I stuttered a bit in my growing discomfort; Oread was reassuming her colder self, little by little.

"Yeah; I used to think that everyone was like that, until Naiad started talking about her stories with Nereid, of when they were about four or five."

I stared, then shook my head. "Sorry… who?" Oread must be in a reminiscing trance or something. I was somewhat confused.

"My younger sister, Naiad." She seemed to chant the words, while looking blankly ahead.

It clicked; she was the one Oread associated me with. It all fell into place then. This journey, all the suffering she had gone through, she had done so with her sister in her mind. I remembered the difficult trip to Lut Gholein, the way she uttered the name in her feverish nightmares.

"– Nereid was her childhood friend; she was Alseid's little sister. You remember Alseid?" Oread paid no heed to my silence; that or she was trying to move the conversation elsewhere. "The one we saw at the Monastery Cathedral?"

"Oh, oh! Yes." I was snapped back to the present. "Yes, I remember her."

Then there was a long moment of awkwardness. I opened my mouth several times, wanting to know more about my master's history; but the time for that had passed. Oread was sealed up again, in a thick, dark chill that engulfed her being, like the usual deep-indigo aura of hers.

Then there was the crimson aura, the terribly beautiful power that I sensed from my master in those few incidences. A stark contrast – this energy seared and burned like red-hot iron on the skin, releasing thick metallic fumes that seeped through every pore of her.

I was still scared of Oread. I would for a long time to come.

* * *

On the trip upon which we found the brain of Khalim, we also came across a shipwreck that seemed to have been forced ashore violently. That was after we found the bodies. 

There were bloody remains that were clearly human scattered all across the shores that bordered what was known as the Flayer Jungle. The bloodstains revealed that they were only a few days old. How many perished we could not tell, for the bodies were ripped up and the entrails scattered throughout the shoreline as monsters feasted upon them.

I thought I had gotten used to the gore by now, but the humid and hot weather, with the stuffy atmosphere of the place, and the painful wounds from battling the local monsters added up and made me gag quite a few times as Oread tried to find objects of value on the dismembered cadavers. When she nudged some bloody dark-grey mass with the toe of her boot, the thin film on its surface fell apart and dark blood poured out with some brownish-yellow lumps. The smells of vicious decay and vomit wafted about.

That was beyond my limit and I threw up over it, emptying my stomach of my breakfast, and from the way my insides ached, it felt like my intestines had given up on my dinner from the previous night as well. Tears stung my eyes as nausea washed over me, and my legs grew numb.

"Whoa, Celadon!" Oread's hand fastened around my upper arm. "You okay?"

"This is disgusting." I spat out the foul mixture of stomach acid and bile from my mouth.

"Human guts just has a different… _aroma_ to demons' ones, don't you think?" Oread grinned; obviously I was embarrassing myself.

I groaned. "You're not helping." I shook my head and my eyes cleared a little. "So you think these were Nyhl's companions?"

"Well, he couldn't have made it from much further than here, the way he's torn up." We had walked back to the shipwreck, and Oread picked up a blood-stained and torn parchment. "Necromanic language." She pointed at a few runes.

"How'd you know that?"

Oread shrugged. "I've seen it before."

A moment of the burning _crimson_ jolted, but it was soon gone.

"We should bring this stuff back." Oread tried to heave a few packs out of the shattered remains of the ship, but she grunted softly as her battle-beaten body suggested otherwise "Let's go and get someone – oh, what have we here?"

She picked up something half-buried in the blood-darkened sand that glinted as it caught the sunlight. She dusted it off, stared at it for a second, then turned to me with a devious grin.

"You've seen through me – I'm not gonna beat him up; but do you think these are his?"

I looked between her eyes, her smirk and her hand a good few times, and then it occurred to me.

"Master Oread, you are _so_ mean."

* * *

"Please give them to me, Oread." Nyhl commanded sternly. 

"These aren't for reading, are they?" Oread giggled.

Yes. My master. Giggled.

I had, up to that point, never heard her giggle like that. She sounded so childishly amused; it was simply absurd to hear that sound coming from someone like her.

Nyhl had gone through the load that we brought back, and had elected all the gold pieces, some clothes, a sword, a dagger, an ornamental-looking jewelled skull, and something that he had quickly slipped into his pocket. After that he looked at loss; he looked so miserable that I told him about Oread's mischief.

He then insisted that I get him out and after Oread, who was with Asheara, waiting at the Iron Wolves' residency, where tables and chairs and a small bar were provided for social functions, for Leaf to finish her daily tuition with Cain.

"I was born near-sighted." Nyhl's tone was low and admonitory, but he lacked substantial volume. Not that I blamed him; he had exerted himself from getting here.

"From the way these look to me, you must be _blind_." Oread stated with feigned thoughtfulness. Nyhl dropped his head onto the wooden table with a rather solid impact that must be painful. Some of his long hair draped onto the table – his raven-black hair was parted on the right with bangs long enough to cover his brows, and longer chin-length ones at the sides. The rest of his hair reached the middle of his back. I did not notice how long it was until then; he had it tied back in a low ponytail when we found him.

He seemed defeated by Oread's humour, but he kept his left arm out, palm up, in the hope that her amusement may cease.

"All right, Oread; don't you think you've tormented him enough?" Said Asheara, fulfilling her position as the voice of reason – though she wore a grin all through the teasing.

Oread made a pout and held out the pair of spectacles. "Here you go." She dangled them in front of Nyhl, who turned his face up and, using his working left hand, snatched them from Oread.

He still had his head on the table in a lethargic posture. "Thanks." He muttered, and tucked his hand with the spectacles away from view as he somewhat huddled up a little. "What?" He asked in a disgruntled tone when he realised that Oread was still gawking at him and had not sat back.

"Put them on." Oread suggested, beaming with anticipation. "I wiped them clean for you. Go on."

Nyhl sighed. Sitting up a little, he flipped the arms of the spectacles open and with a swift, practiced movement, slipped the spectacles into precise position.

Oread stared, then she snorted, and then she burst into giggles again.

This was beginning to freak me out. Nyhl _did_ look somewhat less boyish now, his eyes having been a little reduced in size by the lenses, but I did not understand why Oread was so hysterical about it. Nyhl just sighed again, and put his head onto the table.

"Go easy on him, Oread." Asheara's amusement in her tone had died down a bit. "It's only been two days since he woke."

"Why are we here, anyway?" Nyhl asked, turning his head a little to look at me. "Apart from Oread's fun on my behalf, that is."

"We're waiting for Leaf." I answered before Oread could. "We thought it'd be interesting for you to meet her."

Just then, the door was pushed open softly. "And here she is!" Asheara beamed and walked up to the small child, holding the door open for her as she struggled with a large tome and a small file of parchments in her hands. She was dressed in a plain dark-blue robe today, accentuating the redness of her maroon eyes and the golden strands amongst the straight dark brown hair of hers, worn out as usual.

Nyhl's head was off the table, and his eyes were wide and fixated upon the girl. Leaf, in turn, looked straight at Nyhl, her young face expressionless.

"She's mute and deaf, but she can lip-read very well." Oread seemed glad to see such a scene, and she spoke the words with pride. "You can just speak to her normally."

"Come here." I smiled and gestured for Leaf to come over. She smiled back and strode over quickly, put the heavy tome onto the table and sat onto my lap after seeking permission with her eyes – there were only fours chairs at the table. I faced her. "Leaf, this is Nyhl."

Leaf turned to Nyhl and stared for a bit before nodding in greeting, accompanying that with a smile.

"Uh… Nice to meet you." Nyhl took his eyes off the girl and stared at the embellished cover of the tome instead, and then they shifted back to Leaf. "Where did you come from?"

Leaf opened the file that she was holding and revealed a tiny jar of ink and a small quill. She shuffled the parchments, found a piece with scratched-out scribbles, turned it over and wrote:

_Flaw of the Jewel. _

Nyhl looked confused, and I took up the position of interpreter. "We found her in the Harems of Lut Gholein's Palace. That place had been overtaken by demons." I was somewhat shocked myself; I did not expect Leaf to write in such a manner… like riddles.

_May I return the inquiry?_ Wrote Leaf.

"I'm from the southern marshlands." Nyhl was feigning ease. "My people had lived there for centuries –"

_Why are you here, apart from you kin, Master Necromancer?_

"I'm on an assignment… apparently." His last word dropped off a little. "Wait – you knew I'm a Necromancer?"

_Spirit blued by the aroma of souls. Such is exposed to the eye._

Nyhl was visibly shocked. By the lack of response from the other two, so were they.

"Wow, passive Inner Sight." Oread whistled. "I didn't know you could do that, Leaf!"

Leaf turned towards Oread, her eyes boring right through my master, then she returned to her parchment; her hand moved more quickly over the parchment this time.

_Nyhl Blue from souls  
__Celadon Jade by fidelity  
__Falcon Gold with pride  
__Oread Crimson of impurity_

I must have panicked and clenched my hands that were about Leaf's waist; she flinched and her hand rubbed over the parchment as she reached for my hand, smudging the still-wet ink that had newly formed the words.

"Sorry, Leaf!" I apologised with genuine sincerity as the child looked at me, pouting begrudgingly. "I guess we should get something to eat now and let Nyhl head back. You're exhausted, aren't you?"

"Yes, quite so." Nyhl replied absently. Asheara had stood up briskly and gone off, probably to find some dinner that we can take with us so she could get rid of this awkward situation as quickly as possible. Oread cocked her head a little, but did not say anything.

Oread was sitting to my right, and Leaf wrote with her right hand, so Oread might not have read the words. I did not know how well Nyhl could read upside-down, but from the contemplative, cloudy look in his eyes, he read well enough.

Suddenly I forgot the times that I had held her tight in her sleep to heal her trauma, the times that I had taken her to the markets to show her the wonderful scopes of colours and music, the times that I had let her show me the legends she heard from Cain with enthusiasm and animation.

She was an entrancing terror born from the union of Earth and Hell. Her colourless aura allows her to see others' ever more clearly, ever more perceptively.

I helped Nyhl back to his room while Oread went ahead to our own room with Leaf. Nyhl was silent on the way. He thanked me politely before I left. I got out, closed the door and leaned back on it – I needed time to settle down, and to think about how I could get myself to behave normally around Leaf again.

From within the room, there was a low murmur –

"Crimson…"


	32. Chapter 26: Behind the Smile

All right, feels like forever since I've updated, but that's probably because I've drawn so much lately and the majority of my musergy has been directed towards drawing… so yeah. It's all on DeviantArt. My profile page has the link.

I want to thank all the reviewers over this time, and especially welcome **StoppingTheMotorOfTheWorld**! Your review has been very informative, and what a name you have! To answer your question: yes I do feel very honoured to have such long and nice reviews. My love goes out to all you reviewers!

I've hesitated in doing this but… according to tradition (of my own), each new original character is dedicated to someone. As Falcon is to Phreno, Leaf is to LadyElfdragon, I'd like to dedicate Nyhl to** Emmelyn Cindy Mah**. Just… calm down a little, Emmy. Don't tackle him to the ground and… yeah.

Right, let's see how this one works out. Sorry about this being short, but it just seems like the right place to finish.

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns _Diablo_. I don't own jack except for this fruit of unproductiveness.

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**Chapter 26**

**Behind the Smile**

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We cremated Falcon's bones on an unusually sunny day.

It was barely a ceremony; the ones who attended were Oread, Meshif, Leaf, Nyhl and me. I saw Oread looking at Nyhl questioningly, but Nyhl either did not notice, or just chose to ignore her.

It was a silent ritual. No tears, no eulogy, no prayers.

It was almost as if the world had forgotten the Druidess' former existence.

The wind was blowing towards the sea. When we scattered her ashes, the wind carried them far into the distance. The sunlight glittered golden on the dark water, like Falcon's life force bouncing off the ocean with radiant energy.

Nyhl mumbled something and did a gesture with his right hand, which was still heavily bandaged and must have hurt him to move. Oread interrogated him with her eyes again.

"It's only respectful to apologise and wish them peace in the afterlife when we've used their bodies for our own selfish means." Nyhl explained.

"I didn't know that Necromancers have morals when it comes to dealing with the dead." Oread said with a hint of sneer.

Nyhl smiled and turned his eyes to her. "We mightn't be as immoral as you'd think."

Oread said "Hmph!" and turned back towards the sea.

Nyhl was an interesting person to get to know; it had been two weeks since we found him, and he had gone against almost every single expectation I had of him.

Firstly, he did not speak with any unfamiliar vocabulary, nor did he have a peculiar speech pattern – those were the stereotypes I had of Necromancers: more of an Ormus-type, I suppose. He _was_ unfailingly polite, however, and used very proper words. Though that does not mean that he could not hide a biting remark inside a literally-neutral statement, especially when it came to speaking to Natalya.

Secondly, he was very careless with his life. Not in the same way as Oread, but… he drank a lot of potions.

"I can't waste my time just staying here," such was his excuse. "I have an assignment to complete and someone that I need to attend to."

Oread stared in a rather explicitly improper way, but I thought she must have intended that. "Uh, you _are _aware that drinking so many potions –"

"Shortens my lifespan. I know." Nyhl replied neutrally. "I figured that the time wasted to recover without potions would be more than the amount my life is shortened by if I used them."

Oread snorted and kept staring. "You're an idiot."

Nyhl looked Oread in the eyes and, realising that she did not fully comprehend what he had said, shrugged casually. "It works."

That was the third thing – He seemed to be immune to Oread's rude tongue. It was probably because of this that Oread talked to him a lot; at least, much more than what she would to another new acquaintance. She wanted a reaction from him, but he did not give it to her, and it frustrated her. I think the battle began all the way back when he first woke up and saw her. I remember the way she wore the shadow of a pout long after she left his chamber.

"_However_ did you become a warrior?" Asked Oread, somewhat exasperated. It was not as if she had any right to speak, considering the way _she_ handled self-preservation.

"I'm only a novice." Nyhl said with the consistent neutral tone. "Though I suppose I can give you an idea of my proximity to becoming a warrior, if you'd allow it."

"For now, you can't do anything even if I _do_ allow you to, Necromancer." Oread's tone was smug.

"But do you?"

"Do I what?" The annoyer had become the annoyed. I knew I should not be glad in my master's expense, but this amused me.

"Do you allow me?"

"But… what the heck? Your body's still stuffed up. You can barely move your right arm." Oread was calming down a little, her grin again creeping back to her face.

"I'm left-handed." Nyhl's eyes locked onto Oread's face; and to complete the scene, he added an infuriatingly cheerful smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow at dawn, Necromancer!" Oread managed to control her tone, but not her volume. She stormed out of his room. As I followed her from behind I took a last glance at Nyhl, and noted the satisfactory look on his face as he swallowed the last of his potion.

* * *

When we arrived at the room that Nyhl shared with Cain the following morning, he was fully dressed in a light set of armour that looked new. While he previously had tied it back loosely – probably due to his right arm's immobility – today his raven hair was pulled back neatly into a low ponytail. He was strapping his right arm up with thick bandages when we went into the room. He turned toward us, his spectacles catching the faint light, and gestured for us to be quiet, nodding at the sound-asleep Cain. 

After picking up his weapons from one side of his bed, he ushered us out of the room and closed the door without a sound.

"Good morning." He greeted. I returned the greeting.

"You look a lot better than you did yesterday." Oread stated. This was true – he looked more energised and his colour was better. "Just how many potions did you scull?"

"I just paid Alkor for something strong, that's all."

"Well, speaking of which, take this," Oread handed him a Town Portal scroll. "You better pay me back, though. I just don't want to carry you back this time."

"Thanks." Nyhl pocketed the scroll. The weapons that he carried in his left hand caught my attention – the two blades that he kept the other day: a slim sword about three feet long and a dagger with a broad, curved blade. He tied both to the left side of his belt. On the other side of the belt was the jewelled skull ornament that he had also picked out.

"Since when did Necromancers fight with swords?" Oread inquired with genuine curiosity. "I thought their primary weapons were enchanted wands."

"These _aren't_ my primary weapons." He lifted his head. "The humidity's high. The insects aren't calling – it's not gonna be very hot today, so the sea breeze won't be strong enough to move the clouds away. The rain clouds above us are only going to build up. When rain comes, it'll bucket down on us." He turned back to us. "Let's get going before that happens."

My jaw dropped. Oread's eyes were as wide as I had ever seen them.

"H-How'd you figure out so much with _that_ eyesight?" Oread stammered.

Nyhl shrugged. "Observation isn't directly related to eyesight."

We had left a Portal open from when we were last hunting down Khalim's relics. It led to the Kurast Bazaar – the centre of Kurast's former glamour.

I cast Inner Sight and scanned the area; we had killed many just two days ago, but some monsters from further inland had already made their way here. There fresh trails lingers upon the ground and the walls of the ruined architecture as slimy strands and drips of aura.

"There're some close by." I turned to Oread, "Should we wait here or –"

I was stopped short when Nyhl came into my scene of auras. The colour was as I remembered when I first saw him – a bright, but deep blue. Though what shocked me was its appearance.

The glow of his aura only extended about a foot from his body, unlike Oread's, which reached about three feet. The energy distribution also looks very thin – his aura was very transparent, yet there was solidity about it. It stayed very still, with no noticeable fluctuations.

I had never seen such controlled energy before, except perhaps that of Akara's; still, Akara's aura was a lot more opaque.

"Let's move on." Oread replied, dismissing the incompleteness of my speech. "It won't be a long day, if the Necromancer's right."

So we navigated further from the Kurast Bazaar. The monsters that we encountered were not unfamiliar to Oread and me – polearm-wielding monsters with bodies of men, their skin darkened by soil and soot and gore that festered beneath their skin, their heads totally obscured by a full golden helm shaped like the head of a pained animal. Their tattered clothes suggested that they were once holy men of authority, but had since then fallen to this state of cursed limbo.

We shot them down from a distance. They did not come altogether, so it was quite easy picking for Oread and me. Meanwhile, Nyhl busied himself by looking around constantly.

"These walls are badly fractured." He commented as Oread kicked a corpse to confirm its death. "They can take damage from the inside, but if anything attacked them from the other side, they'll probably just fall in."

"Why on earth would you be thinking about tha –" Oread's voice was cut off by a loud crash. Two Thorned Hulks – such were the common names of the tree-like beasts – smashed their way through the walls to our right. They must have been in the forests enveloping the Bazaar.

"Damn you Necromancer! You jinxed us!" Oread scolded as she backed away while firing at the monsters.

"Just goes to show that I was right, doesn't it?" Nyhl grinned as he moved alongside us. He was still leaving Oread and me to do the fighting. Though I suppose no close-range warrior would like to get too close to _these_ monsters.

"Guys! Stop arguing!" I interrupted. "There're more coming in through the fallen wall!" The polearm-wielders were moving in, and there was a _swamp_ of them – by the time the Thorned Hulks laid dead, we were surrounded by these faster foes.

Oread and I fired like mad. The Bazaar was structured with corridors, and the twists and turns made it extremely difficult to navigate through them backwards.

When the monsters got within ten feet of us, Oread reached for her spear; but before she could even get it into the right position in her hands, Nyhl strode forward.

With his right hand, he slid his slim blade from its sheath, and carried the motion through as he slit the throat of one foe.

Another one moved in from the left. Nyhl spun around and with a swift turn of the wrist, sank the blade easily between the ribs and straight through the heart.

With that one collapsing, the monster behind it became visible. As it swung its huge axe down, the Necromancer moved aside. The blade whisked past his face. Gripping this short period of time before the axe can be raised again, Nyhl launched his thin sword forward; the tip of it entered through a small slit in the helm, probably where the left eye was, and plunged threw the skull, the back of the helm and into the stone wall beyond.

Nyhl's face contorted as he let go of the blade; it stayed there, nailing the dead monster's head onto the wall.

"OWWW!" He hollered as his left hand closed around his right forearm.

Oread stepped forward while I was still dazed. She stabbed through the guts of a monster, before yelling at Nyhl. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't know the wall was _that _close!" Nyhl was gritting his teeth. "I didn't plan to stab into a bloody stone wall! I think the force from doing so had just opened up some healing fractures or something."

"You retard!" Oread was angry. "I thought you said you're left-handed!"

"I'm also near-sighted!" Nyhl said in defence, as he yanked the sword out of the wall with his left hand, flicked the blood off it and sheathed it.

"No, you're just _blind_!" Oread charged her spear with lightning, and slashed it across the chests of two monsters.

"Okay… that was a stupid comeback on my behalf. Forgive my inanity."

In the meanwhile, I was standing behind them, trying to ease the situation at hand. I was so focus on the scene in front of me, that I did not consider what my Inner Sight show me in other directions.

When I heard the sound of a blade moving up behind me, and the draught that it carried, the chill went all the way down to my fingertips.

"Celadon!" Oread cried as I tried to turn around and unsheathe the short sword at the same time.

Then came the flash.

A flash of blue filled the proximity of my magically-enhanced vision. Then came five projectiles of the same brilliant blue. If I was not mistaken, they were shaped like thin, long, pointy cones.

Like fangs.

The sound of flesh being torn and bones being shattered; blood splashed onto my head and back. I moved out of the way as the glaive fell onto the stone floor with a low ring.

"Move away, Celadon!" Nyhl's voice was controlled but commanding; I ran back towards my master. Nyhl's left hand was outstretched, his entire arm and upper torso enveloped by a thick, dense coat of spiritual energy.

His eyes narrowed as I felt a shockwave leave him. The force reached the bloody corpse on the floor, currently being trampled by its advancing comrades.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, before the force within the body was let loose all at once. A loud and solid, almost metallic _bang_, and fine droplets of blood splashed all over me.

Within a ten-foot radius of the corpse, now naught but a bloody pile of mashed pulp, monsters laid dead and maimed. The scene was simply horrific. If I had food in my stomach, I would have thrown it up with so much force that it would probably come out of my ears.

Oread shot dead the maimed few as Nyhl turned around, and cast the terrible spell again to the monsters on the other side. Except this time he did it with four corpses. I cringed and probably whimpered out loud as I was again washed with blood. I felt Oread's arms close around me. I shut my eyes tightly.

Then everything was motionless. I opened my eyes to Nyhl's back. He turned around; his face and body was speckled and streaked and dripping red; his bangs were stuck together in strings by the blood.

"This is messy; I'm sorry." He took off his spectacles and tried to wipe them, but only managed to smear the blood more. He sighed, and smiled apologetically. "I wouldn't have used it if it weren't such a tight situation."

He did the same parting gesture to the bloody pulp all over the floor and the walls as that which he used to farewell Falcon, again with his right hand, and then he looked at me. I was shaking all over, and my eyes must have been so very wide. Oread was still holding me; she, too, was speechless.

"Sorry about scaring you, Celadon." He nodded, again in apology. "I guess I should have warned you."

All right, he was good. He was a great person to have as an ally.

But to me, at least, anyone who can kill so elegantly, move so decidedly, and smile so artlessly after doing what he did is just… not normal.


	33. Chapter 27: Fragments of Reminiscence

BIRTHDAY SPECIAL! Today's this story's first birthday! AND EXAMS ARE OVER!! Thanks to all you reviewers! Wow, new record of review per chapter! A big welcome to Liah, and welcome back, Elise!

Nyhl is so spoilt… but he's really not as cool as you think. I assure you, InnerFire.

Oh, and I was looking back on my past reviews, and here's one from Arcanus Deus Necros in the FOURTEENTH chapter (That's the transitional chapter between Acts I and II): "0.0 will there be a Necromancer? (who's nice?)"

All I knew then was that there WILL be a Necro. Nyhl himself didn't come into existence until after Falcon's death. ADN must be a clairvoyant!

Sorry I couldn't slip much of Leaf and Natalya into the last chapter, as well; but I just gotta experiment with this new character in combat, y'know… I'm retarded like that. I get to know my characters as I write them.

**Disclaimer: **_Diablo_ belongs to Blizzard. Ophelion doesn't even own a copy of the darn GAME anymore. Ugh.

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**Chapter 27**

**Fragments of Reminiscence**

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**

As predicted, it soon began pouring after we once again cleared the Bazaar. It poured the way it did when we first arrived. A little past noon, the visibility got so bad that we simply called it a day. Nyhl went off to his own business while Oread and I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening trying to restore our living quarters to its former dryness, after a part of the less-than-well-maintained roof collapsed during the storm.

Leaf found it oddly amusing as she fetched buckets to keep the worse of the rain from reaching the floor, grinning throughout the process. Oread was in a foul mood, and as she wrung the water out of her hair, she decided that Diablo must have something to do with the horrendous climate, and swore to "make him pay for making us do this shit-load of a job".

We finally fixed the leakage a little past midnight. While Leaf slept snugly in her bedding, I sat with my master as she tried to dry her long hair with a towel. We were both exhausted.

"Let's just take tomorrow off." Oread grumbled, looking up at the ceiling, beyond which the droning sound of pouring rain persisted. "I'm complaining this to Ormus, seeing he's an elder of Kurast and all; and we'll see if someone can come and help us fix the roof. Properly." Another drop of water leaked through and dripped into the bucket before us. "Ugh. The Necromancer jinxed us _again_." Oread snarled.

"If you'll pardon the total lack of relevance, Oread, you're a really good climber." She had climbed to the roof without the aid of a ladder, only using a nearby tree. In an attempt to cheer her up a little, I produced a kind of smile that I knew would work on her. Every time I smiled like that when she was in a mildly-bad mood, her face would grow softer and the tension would ease.

It worked. "My homeland's not unlike Kurast." She explained, staring out the window now, into the dark of the night. "I used to climb the trees when I wanted to be alone, or when I'm left alone. The wind and rain have a different sound when you're in the canopy, and you don't have to listen to the meaningless squabbles of people down below."

"Did your sister… Naiad, did she come with you?" I sensed that it was another opportunity to coax some history out of Oread. She was in her Realm of Reminiscence, and was a lot easier to probe.

"I can't remember much when she was a bit younger, as you know." She answered; her gaze unfocused. Her hands stopped in drying her hair. "But she came up with me a few times, before she grew into her teens and realised that her sister wasn't as awesome as she'd thought."

She grinned a little, but the sadness in her eyes made it more of a bittersweet grimace. "When she got into a fight with someone, or gotten teased, or whatever that made her upset, I'd sneak off with her and we'd climb into the trees. We'd just sit there in the canopy for hours, until after we've watched the sunset and the whole spectrum of changing colours of the sky. We'd get scold later, of course; I'd be reminded that I'm the elder one and I'm supposed to take care of her –"

There she dropped off. For a brief moment her eyes just looked into mine, completely at loss and blank; then she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them close. Her forehead was on her knees; her long, untied hair fell over either side of her face.

"I'm sorry." She muttered. I was not sure if she was saying it to me, or to the late Naiad.

I was feeling as awkward as ever. I shuffled closer and put my hand on her shoulder. When I sensed no resistance I put both my arms around her.

To my surprise, she turned and hugged me back.

I had expected the tears to start flowing, but Oread's solid body did not quake even a little. She just hugged really tight; her hands gripped me desperately hard.

Desperation. That was it. The emotion that was overtaking my master was not sadness; it was fear.

That was when I finally established that she was afraid of losing _me_. I had taken her sister's place for her reason of existence. I was one that she wanted to protect.

Made me feel somewhat incompetent as a mercenary, really.

* * *

The next morning, Oread had woken up strangely energetic; she did not mention anything about the night before, particularly our little conversation. 

At three hours past dawn, she was going around trying to find Nyhl. What for, I had no idea; but I was feeling embarrassed for the way she went about it when I noticed Leaf standing there, holding the tomes that she used for her recent morning lesson with Cain, her head cocked at my master. I went up to her and explained Oread's absurd shouts of "NECROMANCER!!".

Leaf told us with sign language that he had left the dockside city in the direction of the jungles.

"Why, he's leaving?" I asked. Leaf shook her head.

"Where's he gone then?" Oread sounded as if she was actually expecting a straight-up answer from the girl.

Leaf shrugged, but suggested perhaps he went for his companions.

Oread's face fell. "I totally forgot about that 'til just now."

"So did I; it just never came to mind." I shrugged. That was the truth: when Oread and I went through the shipwreck and the corpses, it did not occur to us that these were people who deserved a proper burial. They were just another load of corpses to be searched through and left behind to fester.

Corpses were just too plentiful these days.

When he returned that late afternoon, he was covered with dirt and old blood and soaking wet from the downpour less than an hour ago, which erased all remnants of tears, if there were any. He was nursing his right arm with his left, the bandages that strapped up his forearm were stained with fresh blood – the flesh wounds from the compound fractures had probably opened up, and he had most likely refractured the bones again, judging from the feverish aura that I could sense arising from his arm.

"Where'd you go?" Asked Oread.

"Flayer Jungle." Nyhl answered simply.

"So where are they? You went for the bodies, didn't you?" My master was so blunt… I still cannot understand how someone can just ask something such questions like that. I thought the idea of rolling my eyes only crossed my mind, but apparently I actually rolled them – Nyhl must have seen, as he stole a quick glance at me.

"I buried them on site." He replied flatly; his voice, apart from being a little breathless, was perfectly controlled. His eyes were somewhat narrowed, but that could have been from the persistent drizzle or exhaustion. "It'd be too difficult to bring the decaying bodies back here and try to start a fire with this weather."

We watched him go to clean himself off. I saw him reach into his pocket with his good hand.

We talked a little more over dinner. "So there were two with you, right?" Oread was playing with the condensation on her glass of chilled water as she chewed her food. "I think you said… your mentor and your sister?"

"Tiden was formally my teacher; that was who he was before everything else, but he's also my stepfather." Nyhl was hacking at a chunk of tough meat with his fork. Leaf was amused by his futile effort. "Kaira was his daughter and my stepsister."

"I'm sorry about what happened." I said, despite noticing no devastation in him; perhaps he just hid it very well.

"Your concern's much appreciated, Celadon; but it's over now." Nyhl gave up on the stubborn meat and stabbed at a piece of carrot instead. "Speaking of which, I never asked which way you're heading." He chewed the undercooked carrot, and it crunched loudly in his mouth. He excused himself.

"I don't know which direction it is, but we're heading towards the Pandemonium Fortress." Oread answered. "You're heading north, I believe?"

"Yes. As far as I know, the Pandemonium Fortress can't be reached easily… not by just physically travelling there, anyway. It belongs in another realm of its own, accessed only by magic." He tried another section of the meat again. "In any case, none of us can move ahead until the troubles in Kurast are sorted out. Mephisto, Diablo's brother, is said to be residing close to here – I believe Master Cain has informed you of it?" He looked up; Oread and I nodded in response. "Mephisto must have some connection with the Pandemonium Fortress; after all, that's where his brother resides. As for me, I can't continue landward with Kurast corrupted." He succeeded with the meat this time, and picked it up the small piece with his fork. "I might as well ask you now; would you allow me to join you for the time being, just as soon as Kurast is restored?" He put the meat in his mouth and proceeded to chew it, while keeping his eyes on Oread for the decision.

"You can join ME!" A shrill voice arrived before Natalya herself did at the table. She came up from behind Nyhl and had seemingly popped out of nowhere, what with the Necromancer's tall, gaunt shape blocking her small body from view.

Nyhl choked. He was trying to suppress his violent coughs while Natalya thumped him twice on the back mercilessly, which probably did more harm than good. Oread rolled her eyes and refilled Nyhl's glass of water from the jug on the table.

"Good evening, Natalya." I greeted. Leaf quivered with soundless giggles and waved at the newcomer.

Natalya beamed, flashing her straight, white set of teeth. "Hi, Celadon." She scuffed Leaf on the head, jumbling her silken hair into a twisted mess. The small child tried to pull away from her strong hand. "Hey, little Leaf... You okay, Nyhl?"

"It'd be a pity to kill him now after he's managed to stay alive at the Bazaar." Oread slurred as she glanced at Natalya with unhindered annoyance written across her face.

"Oh yes, I've heard about that. Apparently you did a great job with the corrupted priests." Natalya beamed.

"I'm flattered." Nyhl gasped and downed the entire glass of water.

"Which is why he's coming with _us_, Natalya. He asked us first." Oread straightened her posture in a stance of assertion. "Welcome to the company, Necromancer. Now stay alive and… give my portal scroll back." She held out a hand.

I gawked at my master incredulously. She would never have made a decision just like that in any other case… she only did this to be against Natalya. I threw my head back in exasperation as Nyhl stared wide-eyed at Oread. "I don't have it with me _now_! Come back with me after this and I'll get it for you."

"Fine." Oread sighed with feigned impatience. "So, what have _you_ been up to anyway?" She asked Natalya.

"Cain wants me to go after a tome once possessed by a certain Lam Esen." Natalya smoothed her chestnut curls back with one hand, and then leaned onto her elbows upon the table, her shoulder brushing Nyhl's. The Necromancer visibly cringed and tensed up. "Apparently it's lost amongst the ruins of the temples all over the place. I've gone through the ones leading from the Bazaar already with no success, but oh… the temples have _so_ many hidden treasures."

"Wait… Natalya, you jerk!" Oread leapt to her feet. Leaf bounced a little in her chair – probably startled by the sudden shaking of the table, by the way she pouted at Oread's back afterwards. "You're following us so that we'll clean up the place for you before you search the temples, and keeping all the loot for yourself?"

"Hey, look, I never said that I didn't appreciate the help." Natalya smirked cheekily. "Besides, the temples are a whole other story. Different monsters and all, y'know." She shifted and touched Nyhl again. He crossed his arms and looked somewhat distressed. "I must say I think I'm doing quite well. If you don't want me following your tracks, I can always just slip past the monsters all the way up to the Causeway and just go through the temples. I'll leave the bigger monsters up to you, yes?"

"All right." Oread slumped back into her chair. "It's not like I like to fight in tight, dark and cramped ruins anyway. You have a deal then, Natalya. Thanks for the cooperation and nice working with you."

"Oh my, you want to get rid of me _that_ badly?" The Assassin-turned-mercenary whistled. "Did I butt into a private conversation or something? But you," She turned to Nyhl; his eyes met hers and he drew back. "You don't seem to talk much, do you?"

"Only what's necessary, I suppose." Nyhl managed a polite smile. "As your upbringing would have taught you, Natalya, you shouldn't carelessly reveal all that you know, in case someone double-crossed you, right?"

"I can be careful _and_ talkative, Nyhl." Natalya smirked again, but this time her eyes were narrowed in a seductive gaze. Oread and Nyhl twitched simultaneously. Leaf glanced between the three of them with unabashed curiosity. "That way people won't suspect. If you're _too _quiet, they'd know that you're up to something."

"Thanks for the advice." Nyhl looked back down onto his plate, then reached out for his glass again and sipped it slowly. He was looking at Natalya out of the corner of his eye.

"I'll take that as a cue for me to disappear." Natalya swivelled around, her breasts rubbing past Nyhl one last time; he shuddered and choked again, this time on water. "If you want me, I'll be with Asheara. Enjoy the romantic dinner with your girl, Nyhl."

Nyhl burst into a coughing fit as Oread yelled after Natalya. "PERVERTED WHORE!"

"VICIOUS BITCH!" Came the reply over the chattering of the Iron Wolves dining room.

Nyhl recovered, raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Oread's hand slamming hard on the table. "You say one word about that, Necromancer, and I'll kick you out. Physically."

He remained silent for a few seconds, then muttered, "… I'll bring the scroll back to you tomorrow."

"You do that." Oread sat back down and wolfed down the remainder of her bowl of food with unusual speed; I thought she must have imagined the food as Natalya's guts or something. "Eat up, Necromancer." She said with her mouth full; I could tell that Nyhl was refraining from frowning at her. "We're leaving in the morning at five hours past dawn. We _were _going earlier, but I didn't know you'd be running off today."

"How far are you planning to go?" I asked, and moved the water jug to within Leaf's reach. The child took the handle gratefully and filled her glass to the brim, took it up with a steady hand and drank without spilling a drop… weird habit that she picked up somewhere.

"There are some sewers under the Bazaar apparently; that's what Ormus said… I think. If we got past that then we'll head further up towards the Causeway. We'll have to eventually end up in this huge place called the Travincal, apparently. That's where the Com… something… Orb of Mephisto is; before that, we need to get this Khalim's Will thing together, which means more innards to trudge through." She glared at Nyhl. "So, Necromancer, don't you go exploding all the bodies. It's hard enough trying to find an organ, let alone having to sort through a whole bloody _heap _to pick it out."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nyhl replied, then gathered the rest of his food into one small pile on the edge of his plate. "Thanks again for letting me come with you." He finished the small mound of food off.

"If you went with Natalya, you'd be dead or catatonic within a week." Oread rolled her eyes, grabbed the apple that she had taken earlier and took a huge bite out of it, before locking her gaze onto Nyhl. "We went through all the trouble getting you back from the bloody mess that you were. You're not gonna go and die that easily after that. I'll personally bring you back somehow kill you again if you do, understand?"

"Yes."

"And that arm would never heal properly at this rate you're re-injuring it. You better be careful with it until it's fully fixed. Get it?"

"Yes, Captain." Nyhl smiled his infuriating smile. Oread took a few more hasty bites out of the apple and threw the remainder at the still-grinning Necromancer. He dodged it, stood to pick it up off the floor, and then left it on the table.

"My name's 'Oread', Necromancer." She snarled at her newest colleague as Leaf chuckled silently. I patted the child on the shoulder and we exchanged secretive grins.

Nyhl's own smirk grew wider as he pushed his chair in. "And mine is 'Nyhl', Captain Oread." He bid us a quick goodbye with a wave and hurried off. A smart move, seeing that Oread almost jumped over the table to launch the apple core at him again.

"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH, BLOODY NECROMANCER!!!"

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We returned to the Bazaar, and it seemed that Natalya had gone on ahead of us. There were the idle claw marks from her felling a few remaining monsters. Her trails led into one of the ruined temples, so we went on ahead to scan the Bazaar of any staircases leading to the supposed sewers below. 

On the far eastern side of the Bazaar, the walls were still bloody from the scene that Nyhl caused the previous day. The winds of the storms were not strong enough to wash the walls of the darkening red, but the wet floor was marbled with it.

"See how much of a mess you've made, Necromancer?" Oread grunted. "If you do it in the sewers… I don't want to emerge from that place covered in sewage and blood, okay?"

"Understood." Nyhl replied absentmindedly. He was glancing around again.

"Where are the stairs?" I asked. There were no entrances that I could see. I tried Inner Sight, but this place must have been shielded magically, however long ago. There was a certain resistance about the area, blurring my spiritual perception of anything beyond the solid stone structures of the Bazaar.

That, or Mephisto shielded it himself.

"There's an altar-sort of thing over there," Oread nodded to the centre of the northern side. "We were busy in battle and walked right past it last time, I think."

So we went over to investigate. As Oread said, it looked like a small altar, except it was connected to the wall behind it. A few steps of stone stairs, semi-circular and concentric about the altar led up to it. Nyhl knelt down before the steps.

"These steps don't seem to be made of horizontal slabs." He concluded. "It's more like… they're vertical tubes that rise higher as we move up to the altar."

"So you're saying that there's something funny with these stairs." Oread was playing around with the stone relief on the top face of the altar. "These are… runes? I don't recognise this one…"

She ran her hand over the surface, trying to rub off the blood that had pooled and congealed in the depressions, in an attempt to read the particular rune better. Suddenly, there was a loud, low _pop_. Oread drew her hand back. "What was that?" I asked urgently. It sounded as if something had violently snapped.

"… I didn't do it."

Just then, the stairs… _inverted_. The altar dropped the furthest down, and the rest of the steps followed. It was not a gradual, mechanical lowering; they just caved in.

"Oread!" Nyhl and I shouted simultaneously. She tried to back away once the altar had moved, but the stairs fell fast and she lost her footing.

I called after my master again as she fell. My heart skipped a beat as Nyhl, who was still crouched beside the stairs, lunged forward and curled his arm around Oread's waist. She kept going down, and if I had not made it in time then to help him, the both of them would have tumbled in.

From there I saw how deep the stairs went. Each step was about four feet high. Oread would have gone a long way down.

Nyhl sighed in relief and let go of her. She landed a little shakily on the first step. "Are you all right?" Nyhl inquired with notable concern.

"Yes…" Oread looked back at him, then at me, and I could not decipher the mix of emotions in her eyes. "Thanks, I suppose…? Thank you too, Celadon."

Nyhl leapt down beside her. "No problem, Captain." He grinned. I would not have been surprised if Oread smacked him right then and there; his humour just seemed so out-of-place.

But Oread just managed a half-hearted glare, and turned around. "Be quiet and just get ready. We've created such a scene and they'll probably be waiting for us by the time we get down there." She looked down into the darkness below, then reached into her belt, and handed two antidote potions to Nyhl and three to me. "Ormus advised that I should invest in these."

She did not say anything to Nyhl about paying her back.

Sure enough, by the time we reached the bottom, we were greeted by mobs of skeletons, both undead humans and flayers. We retreated up a step, and shot them down from above.

The skeleton mages threw elemental attacks at us; over the past weeks Oread had taught me Slow Missiles again, and this time I thought I finally understood it a little. I tried it; and it worked.

I beamed at Oread, and she granted me a quick nod of approval. The joy that resulted stayed with me for some time to come.

Nyhl, in the meanwhile, retreated. It was only after the numbers had lessened a little that he went and started his own body count with his sword.

"Aren't Necromancers meant to be ranged mages?" Oread asked as she leapt down the step to stand beside him during the temporary peace.

"Well, in my case, no." He replied and wiped away the powdered bones that stuck to the edges of his blade. "And you seem to have established that I'm very much a Necromancer."

"You used a lot of magic the day before yesterday." I interfered. There was a contradiction here about him, and it made me edgy.

"Yes, but that was a _volley_ of magical attacks. That's different to fighting_ with_ magic."

"You're not making sense." Oread just shrugged. I did not comprehend what he was trying to get at, either. He was just… odd. "Let's move on, anyway. I expect you to help this time, Necromancer."

Nyhl just smiled and I felt his energy focused just a little. Then a thin layer of it expanded out from his body and what looked to me like a dusty haze enveloped him – the light was dim, and I could not see clearly. It must be a magical skill, and it felt… somehow familiar.

"So, which way do we go?" He asked.

The sewers were a lot larger than expected. The systems were well-built, with deep trenches that channelled the rejected liquid from above ground, and bridges that connected isolated islands amongst the narrow artificial streams. There were dim torches in old wooden stands that burned weakly in every corner. The floor was surprisingly dry and free of filth. The place did not smell of excrement; instead it reeked of poison and fierce chemicals that would cause flesh to fall off bones. The entire place was made of stones stained dark with wastewater, but the scent of chaos and corruption had long since overpowered the organic stench that they might once have possessed.

As we walked on, there were only a few solitary foes – it promised more violence later on, but I was unaware of it at the time. Perhaps it was this lack of action as well, but I was pretty certain that the fumes that rose from the stagnant liquid in the trenches made me queasy. I fired a few times, but I had probably missed. Once a fireball whizzed past me and I could hear it crisping a few strands of my hair; by the time I reacted and fired, Nyhl had killed it.

I did not realised that the magic of my Inner Sight had worn out, and for some reason, although the light was quite enough for us to navigate, I did not see it when the huge shadowy form came up to me.

"Celadon! Look out!" Oread yelled, and I heard her let fly an arrow. I was only vaguely aware of Nyhl slipping himself between me and the shadow.

A crackling _bang_ accompanied the piercing sound of an arrow finding its target. As the victim screeched sharply, my view of it was blocked by an opaque shield of dull-ivory in front of Nyhl. Something familiar flashed in my mind again, but it was gone so quickly… I would have to try and retrieve it later.

Nyhl's shield disintegrated back into the fine dust that encircled him. I realised then that they were pulverised bones. There was another shadow, and Oread shot that one down as well with an Exploding Arrow.

"Celadon, what's wrong?" Oread glanced back at the corpse once more before turning to me. I saw that it was a giant bat; its wingspan must be at least five feet.

"It's… just the air, I suppose." I shook my head and my eyes cleared and focused. "I just lost my concentration, that's all."

"Well, you better get it together now." Oread said as we approached a tight corner. She cast Inner Sight, cut around the tight corner and let fly two Immolation Arrows. Several screams in unhuman voices, and then explosions. Those flayer skeletons again.

Oread retreated as I took a peek. My eyes widened in shock and I probably uttered aloud. The scene was a lot more than I had expected.

A huge square chamber opened up; the light of the fire brought out the monsters that lurked in the shadows. I recognised the giant bats, and a few monsters that looked like Radament, with one of their arms as a gigantic scythe. There were skeletons were a-plenty, and as I moved out of the trajectory of a few elemental missiles, I also saw the figures rising from the large toxic pool that sat into the floor in the centre – their silhouettes told me that they were related to Falcon's killer.

Behind them, an even larger bat, its black skin tinted a sharp violet-blue, guarded the small altar beyond the horde. I was _sure _that I heard the monster-equivalent of a dark chuckle.

"So _they _waited for _us_, damn cunning bastards… and all this for a heart?" Oread groaned as she reached inside her quiver to check her arrow supply. "Do we _have_ to?"

"We don't seem to have a choice." Nyhl answered, his left hand flying to the hilt of his other weapon as the demonic war cries echoed.


	34. Chapter 28: Bled Out

Hi everyone! Sorry about the LONG hiatus! I've just been putting this chapter off, and I've had a trip to Canada, then I need to wait for my sister to resume school so that I can write again.

Excuses, excuses, you think. Fair enough.

I want to thank those who have commented in this time, **Kaede Shinomori**and **BloodHeron**, as well as all those regulars who've been so patient and kind with me. In particular, I need to acknowledge **Phreno** and **Emmelyn** for their part in making me take a wild turn in my plans for the future progression of this story. You guys probably have no idea what you've done, but you've done it and I'm grateful!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Diablo_ or any of its merchandises, so I can change the layout of the Sewers as I wish! Though I seemed to have achieved some kind of resonance with Blizzard in the lack-of-punctuality department.

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**Chapter 28**

**Bled-Out**

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Aroma exploded into the stagnant air – roasted blood that was oddly sweet. An eerie, acidic yellow-green glow illuminated the chamber from behind me, casting my shadow – it looked so _small_ – upon the monster before me, the outlines of my body jagged and serrated upon its crackled, time-eroded skin. I brought my sword down as the light died.

"You fight rather efficiently, Necromancer." The impressed laugh was obvious in Oread's voice. Slash of a blade. Whiz of an arrow. _BOOM_. The light came again. This time my shadow was perfectly shaped and defined on the grey stone wall, a thick splatter of blood, almost greenish in the lighting, seemed to have erupted from my shadow's head.

"We should keep doing this; whatever poison's on that blade of yours, it seems to be explosive." Oread sounded as if she was having fun.

"We can't afford a long fight; there're still more levels to go." I could see the deadpan face of the Necromancer from his voice. It sounded too far away, and I whipped around to catch up with the two of them.

A large shadow fell over me as I felt the wind muffling the sounds of explosions. Reflexively, I slashed my sword across the front of my face. As the giant bat screeched, I planted three arrows into its head. The bat fell, sort of floated to the ground despite its size, and there was a small Radament-look-alike behind it.

Concentrated poisonous aura jumped and jostled upon its scythe-like arm; I sidestepped as it came down, smelling the poison burn and dissolve the ends of a few strands of my hair. The monster's bladed hand was stuck in the stone wall; I slammed my left forearm into the side of its ribcage, feeling it crack easily under the force of my strike.

What I did next I did out of impulse.

Without looking, I spun around and sliced at the skin, opening a huge whole from which blood and bits of shattered bones gushed out. I jammed my left hand into the wound, burying my arm into the monster's body up to my elbow, feeling the lung, then the heart.

I closed my hand around the huge heart that was beating furiously, amazed by its power and warmth. The monster shrieked. I held on, and then ripped my hand out of the inhuman body.

It appeared that I had held onto a bit of lung as well; it stuck out of the wound like a ludicrous tongue dripping with crimson saliva. It deflated one last time, and the monster collapsed.

I looked at my blood-coated arm, with the hot, muscular organ in my hand. It seemed to quiver just ever so slightly... even after it had been detached from its owner.

"Celadon!" I looked to my right, and the giant violet-blue bat was nailed to the wall beside the former-altar-now-stairs, burning and crisping beneath a greenish flame.

I dropped the heart and ran, nearly slipping on the blood, evaded the sewer-equivalent-Tentacle Beast's burning spittle (and planted four fire-imbued arrows into its eyes and two in the mouth for good measure), and arrived at the stairs –

Then I tripped.

I tumbled down the deep, tall steps. Oread got a hold of me after I had made painful contact with the floor twice.

"Are you okay? You fell behind back there." Asked my master, concerned. "It was no use trying to kill them al– what did you do to your arm?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I guess I got the blood on me from the floor when I fell over." I tried to wipe off some of the blood with the back of my right hand and looked around. We were on the step just above the second level's ceiling, and weak amber light streamed from below. Nyhl was on the step one below ours.

Oread grinned and shook her head. "Just watch where you're going next time." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the piercing glare that the Necromancer directed at me.

I had just started a nod when the floor rumbled. "They must've reversed the mechanism from up there. Come on."

We hurried down the remaining four huge steps, and ran straight into a horde of undead corpses. We tried to back off, before the wall blocked off our retreat. Nyhl grunted as he beheaded the one closest to him, and before the corpse could fall all the way down, he placed his hand on its chest, paused for a moment, then shoved it further away.

Then it exploded. The thick, pungent smell of decomposition hit us, as well as the blackened flesh and the maggots that were feeding on them.

"Necromancer, that is _disgusting_!" Oread bellowed. "What did I say about exploding corpses?"

"You said you didn't want the scene to be full of blood and guts, so dry corpses are fine, right? We needed to clear some ground somehow." Nyhl replied, in all seriousness, as he exploded another two undead corpses.

One of those explosions killed several Flayer skeletons, and _they_ exploded as they usually do upon death. There was a wet splatter somewhere off in the shadows beyond.

"_Now_ you've done it!" Oread yelled as she shot down a few corpses, and then retreated to avoid the cloud of gas that burst from the bodies.

Nyhl just sighed hard and gave up the argument. As a form of protest, he killed quite a few Flayer skeletons from afar with his teeth-like projectiles, causing a volley of explosions.

"Damn Necromancer." Oread cursed, sending up huge flames of her own with Exploding Arrows.

This level was notably smaller than the top level, and was totally open. It was roughly square, with a square pool set in the centre. The dark, opaque liquid in the pool stirred and bubbled.

We dare not go near the pool for the time being, so we took down the monsters at a range. I ran out of arrows, and had to back off while the other two went about with the killing. I then noticed that Oread's quiver had five arrows left. It was at that moment that the splashes came, flying toward us from the pool.

Some of the dark liquid got into my eyes, and it burned. As I tried to recover my physical sight, my Inner Sight showed me where Khalim's relic was – in the pool, just below the surface… inside a small chest.

My Inner Sight also told me that we were surrounded by enemies that emerged from the pool. Their aura hummed at a particular pitch, one that was familiar.

_Claw Vipers?_

Their water-dwelling cousins, then.

Tears streaming from my eyes, I unsheathed my sword and sliced a wide arc before me, cutting a few serpentine foes. One leapt at me from behind, to my left. I put up my arm to block it, and sharp, smooth teeth glided through my skin.

It did not hold on for long, though. The jaws opened up again quickly, almost as if it were startled. Maybe it was the demonic blood that was still on my forearm.

Ignoring the pain, I grabbed at where the monster's throat would be. Judging by the ragged gasp, I was dead-on.

I plunged the sword through its heart; either the skin of the monster was very thin, or I had grossly misjudged the force of the stab – my hand, with the sword, came out through the back. My wrist was locked amongst wet muscles.

I was still blinded, but I knew that there were a few creeping up from behind. I spun around and swung my right arm out, the body still locked around it. I heard and felt the wet squeak as the body flew off my arm and bowled three of its living kindred over. Bringing my sword arm back quickly, I slashed through the neck of another monster. Cool blood squirted onto my face and dripped into my mouth. It tasted bittersweet.

My mind reached out further to my companions. Oread was not doing badly, though she had sustained quite a bad cut to the back of her left shoulder – I could see the glowing energy that had gathered there, as her body attempted to fix itself up through the strain of using a spear.

A little further off, Nyhl's life force was significantly weak. I could not tell if it was because it was reserved deep inside his body, or if it was just insufficient. In any case, it was building up in the ground, above which a serpentine foe lied dead.

My eyes opened and focused just as I felt teeth sinking into my right thigh. I kicked the monster off, its fangs ripping out of my leg with small chunks of my flesh. Despite that I planted my boot into its chin when it was trying to regain balance. The head snapped back and there was a sharp sound, more dramatic than a _pop_ but crisper than a _crack_.

It was then that the poison finally reached its critical amount in my body; my muscles cramped up and I hit the floor. My heart raced as I fumbled for an antidote.

I finally got the cork out, and tried to swallow as quickly as I could. Blood rained over me again, and as my vision focused, I saw Oread standing on top of me, and the monster sprawled out between us, cut in half at the midsection, its intestines tumbling out, filling the air with a mix of sour acid, bitter bile and sweet blood.

I looked towards my other companion; he was attacking four monsters with his long sword. He drove them to the nearby corpse, and then with a shout, he dropped low and placed his left hand on the ground. Thick, curved bars of bone burst forth from underground, caging the four victims inside a prison of bone.

His energy concentrated once more, and the corpse on the floor exploded, destroying the cage and its occupants, splattering blood, organs and flecks of bone in all directions, decorating the wall of age-bleached bones that Nyhl had conjured up before him with extravagant shades of red, pink and grey.

Electric crackling; Oread splitting the head of a monster with her spear, the lightning crisping its brains, sending up a stream of bluish-grey smoke and a waft of something that smelled somewhat creamy.

Then it was still except for the breathing. Oread dropped to her knees before me, her right hand clutching at her left shoulder, which was still bleeding freely. There was another sound – probably Nyhl collapsing – then came the wheezing coughs of the Necromancer.

"Is everyone alive?" Asked Oread, sweat dripping down her forehead and off the tip of her nose.

"Yes." Nyhl answered simply, wheezing and gasping then coughed a bit more.

"You're pretty torn-up, Celadon." Oread took my arm gently, then set it down and turned to my leg. "That's nasty. You're bleeding heaps."

"None of the fangs are still lodged in there?" Nyhl had come over and knelt down beside Oread, who had taken out a long strip of bandage and was binding my leg up rather tightly. There was no serious injury on him that I could see, but he looked pale. "You've gotten rid of the poison; Asheara should be able to fix up the flesh wounds."

"The heart," I began. "It's in there." I pointed at the pool, set in the centre of the room.

Oread made a grimace of disgust, Nyhl blinked his eyes slowly – probably trying not to roll them. "I'll get it."

Sure enough, the heart still seemed fresh, as if it would start beating in any second. I could see the veins that laced the strong muscles.

Then the image of the warm heart that I ripped out of the monster flashed and obscured my vision for a split second. I shook my head and it cleared.

"Some ladder here, leads straight up." Oread, who somehow still had energy to walk around to the other side of the chamber, was looking up from the far right corner. "By the height, maybe it'd even bypass the floor above."

"Do you really want to go on?" Nyhl asked, with notable exasperation.

"Do _you_ want to go and then come back here in a few days when this will be a bloody scene of decaying bodies?" Oread shot back. "You know, for a guy, your stamina's pretty shit."

That was true; I realised that Nyhl's energy level had gone down to a level that I could barely pick up. "I don't deny that." He smiled, despite the insult. "It's an old injury."

"Whatever." Oread shrugged. "I'll go up and investigate. If it's clear enough, I'll open a portal and you guys can come up then."

It seemed logical enough. Nyhl did not object to this decision. "Be careful." He said.

"You'll come straight back down if it's bad up there, right?" Anxiety tugged at my chest as Oread started to climb the ladder.

My master sighed. "No, Celadon. If that happens I'll go and get myself killed and my ghost can come back to tell the tale." She disappeared out of sight.

It took me a moment to pick the sarcasm; after that my muscles relaxed, and I slumped back against the wall.

"So," I turned to the Necromancer. "'Old injury'?"

"Never mind that." He turned to me, his eyes sharp and penetrating. "What did you get up to back there? Before you came down?"

"Nothing!" Childish defensiveness rose up in me; Nyhl's frown deepened a little and I fought to regained control over my voice. "I just cleared my way and headed towards you."

"Pardon me if I'm being rudely frank, Celadon, but when you came down, I could sense bloodlust." He stared at the ladder, not meeting my eyes. "And then just now, just before you went down with the poison, that same bloodlust boiled."

I was silenced. However he could have sensed it and identified it as "bloodlust" I could not know, but I felt guilty and strangely exposed.

"It's all clear!" Oread's voice echoes down the narrow shaft. "Get your asses up!"

"Coming!" Nyhl stood up and called back, then he helped me to my feet. I winced as I tried to shift as much weight as possible to my good leg. When I finally stabilised myself, he picked up the small chest with the sage's heart inside it.

We went over to the ladder, him holding me so that I would not slip or trip. "It's dangerous to have found enjoyment in shedding blood. It makes you lose yourself." He said as he climbed the first few rungs. "You'd suffer when your bloodlust had gone too far, and you realised that there was nothing that could quench that thirst, except for the blood of yourself. Be careful with it, Celadon."

Those words echoed in my mind as I dreamed of utter darkness that night. I woke up, my body cold, my clothes clinging to my sweaty skin, and I wept until the bloody light of dawn overflowed from the horizon.


	35. Chapter 28 and a half: Sound of Silence

Gah I seem to have lost a huge part of my fan base due to my hiatus, or something… Whatever it is, nothing's gonna stop me from finishing this story now. Unless I'm dead, that is. Having said that, I WOULD appreciate reviews, not only because I'm a review whore, but also because I'd really want to know what works and what doesn't, so I can write better stuff for you all out there to read, y'know.

About all that blood in the last chapter, I'd just like to say that it was mainly all spontaneous. I have to thank all the external stimuli for that. Also, there's a companion drawing for the last chapter. You can see it if you visit my DeviantArt account.

This is another half-chapter, bypassing some fight details. I thought too many fight scenes would just be overwhelming, not to mention exhausting. Also, I just HAD to slip in this character's PoV… and this was the only spot where I can do it. I hope it isn't too hard to know who the speaker is.

**Disclaimer: **I only own _Diablo _in my dreams.

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**Chapter 28.5**

**Sound of Silence**

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The jade green of Celadon feels warm and silky as usual, but there is a kind of flare to it today, absurd compared to the usual well-rounded sensation of steam that it emits. Though it is a great improvement from when she came back from the Sewers two days ago; her aura was murky, and when I got close to it I could taste hot bitterness on my tongue.

I suppose it is good that Oread and Nyhl had made her stay here today. She does not like it, but as Oread puts it, she needs some time off to recover. She had injured her leg at the Sewers pretty badly, but it is her mind that needs the time for recovery.

I bet Nyhl had made the decision. He was wary when he returned. His eyes were focused whenever he looked at Celadon, and his aura formed a kind of subconscious shield. It felt very solid, but very transient at the same time.

Perhaps Oread knew, too. Of course, she had always known that Celadon has the potential. She herself possesses something similar, after all; it would be easy for her to recognise that aspect of Celadon. Like Celadon's, her aura feels irregular on a deep level, a sign that it has had to develop and compensate for external change and trauma extremely rapidly at some stage in her past.

This irregularity is on the surface of Celadon's aura; this journey has been hard on her psyche. Oread, on the other hand… her irregularity is deep down, not far from the core, perhaps when she was only a small child. There is a badly-fragmented layer in the purely-crimson part of her life force.

… Part of me states that it is not nice to read into people's auras; it feels… voyeuristic. Another part of me thinks that I should keep doing this, because it is just so very interesting… to look deep down into someone helps a lot when it comes to understanding their actions – It helps me stay out of trouble. Back in that dark chamber that always smelt of sweat and tasted of terror, it lets me know if I should forcefully resist the ones that molested me so that they would be disinterested, or whether I should just force myself to be numb to their actions in order to preserve my life.

It was my very own survival mechanism.

And then, there were those times when it told me to kill them. It, along with pain, told me to let it all out and just unleash the killing light. Like… when they ripped that small vibrating object – what I now know as a voice box – out of my throat. Those were the only times when I saw without having to superimpose my vision with the world of auras. Everything was alight, and it was red.

I knew what peace was, of course. It was the utter darkness without auras… or rather, without – no, _before_ my ability to read auras. It was warm and smooth. It was another person; a human who gave her own warmth to me.

I had not visited that peace since my mind's eye opened. I faintly registered a colour so very opposite to red, before it faded away. In exchange for my awakening, that person died.

That was what kept me from unleashing the killing light when Oread, Celadon and the late Falcon found me. I saw Oread's chaotic, impure aura of crimson, disguised as indigo by a seal of icy-blue, Falcon's golden-orange sura with the even and unrestricted shine of pride, and Celadon's jade-green, connoting loyalty and fidelity and utmost devotion. It struck something deep inside my head, and the opposite of red – not quite as bright as Celadon's but much more constant and calm – flooded my being.

Master Cain had taught me the notion of "mother". So the darker green must have been my mother, and Celadon… she is like her, and not only in aura. Even in person, she is a mother to me, if I understand Master Cain correctly. Those troubled nights back in Lut Gholein… she gave me that warmth that resembles the warmth of peace.

It makes me uneasy to see her distressed, to note the absence of peace in her warmth. She is sitting with me in our room, me doing some work that Master Cain had set for me during the morning lessons – some runes to decipher and a logic puzzle. I know, of course, that they are actually excerpts from Lam Esen's Tome that Natalya had brought back yesterday.

Celadon's aura reaches out to me as she calls my name, drawing my attention before the vibration from her voice was felt through the walls and floor. I look up, and she asks me for my opinion as to why she was left out of action today.

Celadon is not very good with my hand signals, so I take out a parchment from the back of my book. Master Cain had scratched out some writing on one side, but the other side is blank.

_You are injured._ I hold up the parchment with these words.

Celadon sighs and shakes her head. Her lips form the words "It's not just that, is it". After a pause, she adds "I've misbehaved back there. Nyhl said I needed to control" – a long pause – "my bloodlust".

Shame and doubt precipitate from her aura then. I am really not surprised that Nyhl would have said such a thing to Celadon. He, of all people, would know about this. He has seen quite a few faces of death, it seems. I could smell blood on him sometimes, but his aura tells me more than what he would like me to know, probably.

His aura is not easy to decipher, but I had thought about this a few times and I think I got it. His true aura seems to be of a lighter, more greyish blue, but from the outside it appears a brilliant blue that is much darker. This is the result of being stained by souls of the undead. Only two are actually tied to him by his mind – these give his aura the brightness; but the souls responsible for darkening his aura are the mind-boggling ones…

To me, those dark souls seem to have been forced into the constituent parts of his life force, probably having broken through his defence barrier. This dark part consumed a large part of his core.

Master Cain had taught me about curses; they are aura-based attacks that sap their victim's life force and change certain properties temporarily, before the host's body fights back and overpower the foreign energy.

The reason why the body can fight back is because of the natural defence barrier that every living thing possesses; a foreign aura can only deal damage when it reaches that barrier. If an attack is too weak, it will be all dissipated by the host's own magical energy before it can reach the barrier. If the attack is strong enough, once it reaches the barrier, the impact is felt by the physical components of the body. This is a reflexive mechanism that diverts the damage to the parts that have greater chance of recovery. Inside the barrier is the very core of a being's life force, and damage done there is irreversible.

Nyhl has probably been such a case. Somehow his defence was dropped, and a curse – or something of the sort – had penetrated to the core. This, in turn, probably limits the amount of spiritual and physical energy he can derive, as well as his control over the former. I knew about his lack of control when he was first brought to Kurast. I could sense it without seeing it with my eyes.

He hides it well now, by restraining his entire aura. I think he knows that I am trying to read him, somehow. The way he looks at me sometimes, a little doubtful but nonetheless accusing…

Back in Lut Gholein they said that my mother was probably a mage, while the one who violated and impregnated her was probably an evolving human-turned-demon. I wonder which part of me he sees when he looks at me like that…

I know that Celadon sees me as a human, a young human girl. Oread, however… she is not as carefree as Celadon. I have sensed it several times from her – killing intent. Other times, though, she is very kind to me. If Celadon serves Oread as her master, so she is _my_ master, also. I do not blame her for the occasional prejudice; I would be cautious of me, too. In fact, I am.

I have always been afraid that my demon blood would consume me, but… I have not for a split second in my life had the feeling that I was losing my sanity.

My mother… what she gave me was a blessing, not a curse. She sacrificed herself so that I can protect, not avenge. Never shall I kill for selfish satisfaction or fulfilment. I have been made for killing – to live, not to feed.

Perhaps that is what Celadon is having trouble with.

_Do you kill for a living, or for a feeding? _

"I wished it was the former." Her lips form these words. "I thought it was, but now it seems I'm –" a great pause as she considers. "I'm feeding off my enemies. The euphoria of battles, the exhilaration of shedding blood." She holds her face in her hands, as if embarrassed, or trying to hide even though she has already been caught. Her lips remain uncovered and I can still read them; she is desperate to get this out of her. "Gods, when did I… how did I become like this?"

_You are fractured. _

"What?"

_Strained, overloaded by experiences. _

"You think that's it, then…"

_A fracture takes quite some time to heal. _

Celadon pulls herself into a tight bundle and rubs her eyes on her knees. Her aura grows a little frenzied and pulses irregularly. Her reddish-brown bangs spill down and all of a sudden there is just so much red, so much noise of panicked hearts beating and the red the red is all around flooding washing away the peace of green just red red red –

Cold air rushes through my lungs as I am held tight. The red is fading and there is just Celadon and me, one whom I know as my mother, one who gives me warmth.

She releases her hold and looks me in the eyes. She looks blurry and I realise that my face is wet with tears. "I'm sorry." She says. "I'll be all right again, I promise. For you, for everyone, I won't ever lose myself. I'll heal, I promise."

She may stumble, but she will not fall. She can be hurt a thousand times, but she will still recover and live. The jade of Celadon's fidelity shall never fade.

* * *

It is four hours or so after our dinner; Celadon, Asheara and I are chatting absent-mindedly as we wait for Oread and Nyhl's return. I can just pick up their presence as I lift the cup of tea to my lips. They are close, but it feels so faint… this is bad.

I take off, running towards the route into the jungles from where the two are approaching. I feel the sharp scrape of chair legs on the floor under my feet, then Celadon and Asheara's hasty footsteps behind me.

My part-demon body apparently means enhancement of my speed, agility and endurance, and proves its worth as I arrive first.

The sight of the two's entrance is unsettling – Nyhl covered in blood, some has congealed but fresh streams flowing over much of the large dark patches. In his arms is Oread, delirious and equally bloody, looking pale as she shivers and moans softly.

For her to allow Nyhl to carry her like that, she must be seriously hurt. She has been badly chilled – the strong magic has infiltrated through to her organs like poison. Her own body is putting up a desperate fight as her aura concentrated in her torso.

"Council members of the Travincal." Nyhl manages to speak between his heavy breathing. "We didn't mean to venture that far, but they came and forced us in."

Asheara says something - I cannot read her lips from where I was standing; she shifts Oread from Nyhl into her own arms, and then hurries off. Celadon steals a quick glance at Nyhl, who makes a waving gesture with one hand. Celadon looks grateful and runs off after Asheara.

Once Celadon is out of sight, Nyhl sighs. Then comes a rapid jolt in his aura; he staggers, almost losing his balance, and coughs. Great droplets of blood splatter onto the ground. I get to his side.

"It's all right." He motions for me to stop. "Let them take care of her, first."

I look into his body by the faint illumination of his life force; there is no magical damage, but there are several joints under stress, a few broken ribs and bruised organs. There are also some streams of blood that keep flowing from hidden wounds. Then there is the weapon at his belt, gleaming with a strong, white aura that felt otherworldly. I stare at it, then at him questioningly.

He forces a smile and takes the weapon from his side – a small flail, its original colour indistinguishable beneath the thick coat of clotted blood. He throws it onto the ground, and then falls to his knees. "This better be all of Khalim that we need." He is barely registering the pain, I realise. His eyes are shifting out of focus.

"Oread…" He loses consciousness. I run to catch him before he hits the ground – he would have fallen right onto the flail otherwise. His blood is warm as it soaks into my clothes.

I understand now, that whether one kills to live or to feed, it is all about survival in the end.


	36. Chapter 29: Obligatory

Uni is, as it should, taking up a large part of my life, and I'm preoccupying myself on deviantART by joining SDL…

This chapter feels really short for some reason (while it's not, relatively), but I have no idea how to lead the end of this into a new scene, so here it is. Pardon the sucky title, too.

I wanna thank those who started reading my 'fic from scratch, and those ever-faithful reviewers. In particular, I really have to thank Emmy, for her second opinions, and more importantly for literally SHAMING me into writing this chapter. Thanks, Emmy, one way or the other.

**Disclaimer:** I'm as tardy as Blizzard is when it comes to Diablo-ness, but they own it, I don't.

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**Chapter 29**

**Obligatory**

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**_Dim points of light flicker in the dark, futile in their efforts to illuminate the darkness. _

_Flash of jade green, my hand before my eyes, coated in sticky black. _

_Flash. Jade green turned a bitter olive. _

_My tongue closing around my cold fingers. _

_The blood was salty and it tingled my tongue like crazy. I swallowed, and it burned all the way down my throat and into my stomach. _

_I wanted more. _

_I consumed as the blood burned away at my stomach, my throat, my mouth, my lips. My own fresh blood, sweeter and thinner, mingling with the black blood of the slain…_

_Mingling within me – _

"Celadon."

A hand on my shoulder; I jerked awake to find that I had fallen off the chair some time during the night, and my head was on the bed where my master rested. I did not even know when I fell asleep…

"Have you been here all night?"

It was Nyhl's voice. I tried to raise my head and felt a kink in my neck. I worked it out as softly as I could as my eyes adjusting to the odd lighting. The various shades of green were still dancing behind my eyelids as I blinked.

"What time is it?"

"Should be about an hour after dawn, but a huge storm's coming in." He offered me a hand and I took it, getting onto my feet. "How is she?" Nyhl asked. I turned my eyes to him – he was dressed already, but his colour was sickly.

"Asheara said she'll be all right. She got treatment in time, so there shouldn't be any permanent damage. She just needs to take it easy for a few days." I sat on the edge of the bed, and while I used my fingers to fix my disarrayed hair into something neater, I kept my eyes on the Necromancer. He probably did not sleep very well during the night, but upon hearing my answer, he was visibly relieved.

"That's good." He said plainly.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine." He replied. I turned the chair toward him and he accepted it gratefully. "I suppose we shouldn't have taken it that far. We were lucky to have gotten out in time."

"Wow, just how far did you go?"

"All the way up to the Travincal. We kind of had no choice. They approached us first."

"Who?"

"The former high council members of Kurast, I suppose. Being physically so close to Mephisto himself must have had them corrupted."

It was awkward talking to him. It occurred to me that we did not even greet one another properly. This was the second time I talked to him one-on-one, the previous time being the talk in the Sewers, just after we had obtained the heart. I felt apprehensive talking to him again after that little lecture he gave me, I must admit.

As if he had read my mind, Nyhl grinned tiredly and broke the silence. "This is the second time we've talked like this."

"Um-hmm."

"Don't be so uptight; I said all that I had to say back there. You're the sort of person who holds onto these kinds of things and think about it over and over again, aren't you?"

"It's just that…" I realised that my voice was inappropriately raised – Oread was still unconscious in bed, after all. I pushed my voice down to a lower notch. "That wasn't the first time I'd done something like that. It seems to get worse every time."

Nyhl watched me for a moment before he spoke. "How old are you, Celadon? And how long have you been following Oread for?"

"I'm seventeen, and Oread took me as her mercenary about fives months ago… maybe six? I can't remember for sure."

"That's a short time you've been given to get used to this way of life." Said Nyhl with an absolutely neutral tone that dissolved the tense atmosphere. I brought my eyes up to meet his… and I could tell that he needs so much more rest than he had allowed himself. "Then again, there are people who've lived such a life for tens of years, and still one day their sanities decide that they've had enough."

His words had sped up substantially towards the end, as if he was trying to dismiss them as quickly as possible. He looked away from me. "In any case, you don't seem like the sort of person who'd succumb to this easily. There's nothing more I can say to you, really."

"Okay."

Silence took hold of the small room again, and I hugged my knees to my chest, watching my feet. Nyhl did not propose a topic for conversation, either.

It really was very uncomfortable.

We spent a good few minutes in utter silence; I kept my head down, and watched the change of colours on the floorboards, and the shadows cast by the rising sun as it tried to shine through the thickening clouds. The air was starting to soak up the humidity from the clouds overhead that formed the potential storm; it was kind of warm and there was no wind.

I never really liked overcast days, but now it felt good. It felt so much different from the cold of the blood-soaked Sewers, where the air sucked up the smell of stagnant doom and whispered about the emptiness, where every minute scrap of sound ricocheted off the walls.

Cold, wetness, blood, emptiness. These seem to characterise my moments of insanity –

The blood on the walls of the Palace of Lut Gholein.

The underground chill of the Claw Viper Temple.

The lifeless, hollow emptiness of the Forgotten Tower.

And at the end, there's the Dark Wood, when I first discovered the sadomasochistic pleasure of it all. I can't remember if it was drizzling that day… it seemed like it was always raining a bit in Westmarch –

A tug on the blanket as Oread shifted in her sleep.

"I'm sorry I've let this happen to her."

I jumped. Partially from Oread's sudden movement, but mostly from the Necromancer's unexpected outburst. "Beg y'pardon?" I burbled.

"I shouldn't have let her get hurt."

I opened my mouth and wondered what would come out, but I was interrupted. "Shut up about that, you bloody Necromancer, or _you _will get hurt."

That made both Nyhl and I jump. Oread was lying on her side, her eyes still closed. I wondered how long she had been listening in on our conversation.

"_Don't_ move." Oread commanded, and I heard the soft squeak of the floorboards; Nyhl must have tried to get out of the chair. I wondered, at the back of my mind, how Oread knew what he was going to do when her eyes were shut. "Stop acting like you're the one who's better off here."

"If you insist, Captain."

"Now you're _asking_ for death, idiot Necromancer." Oread finally opened her eyes to give Nyhl a fierce glare.

Nyhl just smiled, rather appreciatively, I noticed. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"How 'bout you?" Oread's fierceness subsided for an instant. "Seriously, why are you even out of bed? Get back to bed. Now."

"Right now, Oread, there's only one bed in this room."

Oread frowned; her eyes narrowed to sharpen her glare, and her lips shaped themselves into a pout. "What the hell are you suggesting, you Necromantic bastard?"

Nyhl looked at Oread; whether he was feigning the ignorance or if it were genuine, I could not tell. "What? What are _you_ suggesting?"

"You're gonna die the moment I can get my hands on you." Oread spat back, then her eyes widened and she buried her face hard into the pillow. "Damn, that didn't come out well."

Nyhl still had his clueless expression down pat. "Maybe it's just your mind that's in the sewers, Oread."

Oread's voice was muffled by the pillow, but the childish tone of defeat in it was obvious. "For the sake of all that is holy, just shut up."

Nyhl chuckled, but it sounded somewhat strained. "How hard can you laugh before you scream out in pain, Necromancer?" Oread turned her face from the pillow and jeered.

"Isn't this kind of fooling around a little masochistic?" He tried to make it subtle, but I saw that he had moved his arm to hold his side, which was probably protesting from the laugh.

"You _are _masochistic, you retard; the more you talk, the more I'll beat you up when I can."

"Well, then I'd better make good use of the time I have left."

It was an odd context, and the humour was rather dark, but their conversation sounded so casual. I had never seen Oread joke with another person like this – she was enjoying it, I could tell; even if she tried not to appear so. That and the fact that it was so awkward between Nyhl and I before Oread joined in… it made me feel jealous, somehow.

"Honestly though, how long do you think it'll be before we can head out again?" Nyhl moved the topic on; I was grateful for that. Maybe I was just oversensitive, but their little joking session sounded rather… flirtatious to me. It made me think of Jerhyn, and when Nyhl's question brought me back to reality, I found myself fumbling with Jerhyn's ring.

"How long will _you _take?" Oread replied with a question of her own. It seemed weird to me, that she was acting as if he was the one in worse shape.

"Give me a fortnight."

"With or without potion-guzzling?"

"With."

"You should stop doing that. It can't be good for you." Oread managed to sit herself up. "Is a month okay? Celadon?"

"Huh?" I had been playing the spectator in this whole scene for so long, it kind of surprised me when Oread asked for my opinion. "I'm –"

I stopped short as I heard voices outside. All three of us turned towards the door, then –

_BANG!_

The door flung open, and in fell Leaf, Deckard Cain and Natalya.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Oread yelled, and then her body convulsed and she doubled over into a coughing fit.

Leaf got out from under Cain, arranged her hair quickly, and pulled a face of extreme irritation. She signed with her hands and vigorous shakes of the head that the door opened outwards, and that she had told them they were too close to the door to open it.

"Miss Natalya, if you wanted to listen in, you could have done it by yourself instead of squashing all of us against the door." Cain got to his feet with Leaf's help.

I just realised now that Nyhl had gotten beside Oread, and was trying to sooth her coughing by running his hand over her upper back. It seems that sometime during their trip to the Travincal, Oread had learned to accept help from the Necromancer without trying to tear his head off.

"You know, when there's a door, you can knock on it." I said coldly to the new crowd. It was an inappropriate time to make such a level of noise.

Leaf apologised.

"So what _were_ you doing outside? Were you trying to eavesdrop or were you actually going to come in?" Asked Nyhl.

"_Miss Natalya_ wanted to listen in. It was only the two of us trying to come in at first, but she joined us as we got here." Cain explained, settling himself into a chair. "So how's everyone today?"

"Dead." Oread managed to snap as she gasped for breath. "If you've got no better thing to do, just nick off, Natalya."

Natalya, as usual, looked to be amused by Oread's annoyance. "Oh, I didn't mean to bother you. I just wanted to see how the little Necromancer is doing."

Nyhl's brows furrowed; he might not have realised it, but he shifted closer to Oread, so that he was more or less between her and Natalya. For a moment he seemed to consider letting it go, but the instant passed, and the voice that projected from him was one of warning. "Can't you just leave us alone already? Do you find it so interesting to stir us up all the time?"

"You're twenty-two this year, aren't you?"

"So you guessed right, what about it?"

"Well, as someone with five years more life experience than you have, I'm suggesting that you and your bitch there shouldn't go out like that again."

Oread made a jolt that might have been an attempt to pounce at the Assassin. Nyhl planted his hand firm onto her shoulder to settle her back down; that earned him a quick accusatory glare, which, a split second later, was redirected at Natalya. "You dare say that again –"

"Going into the jungle with insufficient force is suicide," Natalya's grin diminished, and was replaced by a severe scowl. "I don't know what exactly you ran into out there, but you've gotten to the point that two people is just not enough, understood?"

"Since when do you care about our lives, Natalya?" Gripping his side with one hand, Nyhl actually managed to get to his feet. This was the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice, even if it was just by a little bit. "You might as well spit it out now; what do you want?"

"I'm joining you."

"No, you're not."

"I'm not asking for your permission. I'm just telling you that I'm going out there with you next time." Natalya was almost a foot shorter than Nyhl, but with her hands on her hips, her chin held high and her posture stern, her presence outweighed his by far. "As far as I know, none of you can use something like this –"

She reached a hand behind her and pulled something from the back of her belt. It was a flail – three steel fist-sized balls with sharp spikes protruding from them in all directions connected to a foot-long metal rod, which decorated with vein-like designs of silver and the dark surface dusted with crushed-up gems, refracting a rich spectrum of colours. The connections were made by thick, sturdy chains of iron. The chains themselves hang to a foot in length, and carved upon on each link is a unique rune.

"Khalim's Will." With strong but graceful movements of the wrist, Natalya swung the spheres around. The spikes ripped through the air with a clean but heavy and brutal sound. "Cain kinda assembled this himself. I hope he hasn't messed up your luggage."

"What… Cain!!" Oread yelled, and then bent over with coughs and gags again. Nyhl looked back and for that split second, his anger disappeared.

"I think she meant to say that she'll kill you for going through her stuff." I grumbled at Cain. This whole situation was annoying me. I felt lost with whatever Natalya and Cain were going on about, and left out with the exchanges between Nyhl and my master. "Was it really so urgent? Surely you have a good reason for through a woman's belongings?"

"I was just… so anxious to see the reformation of Khalim's relics." Cain looked so pathetic; he made me want to just channel my irritation at everything towards him. "Do you realise that this is the key to the very lair of Mephisto, the Lord of Hatred himself?"

"So what? You just come bursting into this room and expect us to cooperate with you on everything?" My words rendered themselves into a shout. Behind Cain, Leaf crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"Admit it, that's the only way you can go, and you guys need my help." Natalya jeered.

I could feel my ears burning, but realistic thinking kept me silent. She was right; we barely managed it with three people down in the Sewers, and the recent trip with two people was a fiasco. If we were to venture into more dangerous domains, we could really do with some additional power.

Silence fell abruptly upon the room. Apparently Oread and Nyhl considered this, too.

"This room is getting crowded." Nyhl finally eased the situation. "Why don't we talk about this later? Master Cain, now that you've satisfied your desire to see the holy relic, I think you owe a certain lady an apology."

Cain mumbled something, his exact words rendered incoherent by his head's deep inclination and the tiny volume of his voice. Oread dismissed him with a crude wave, apparently still recovering from the most recent coughing fit.

"Trust you to be the rational one calling the shots, little Nyhl." Natalya did a half-turn towards the door, her stance accentuating her feminine curves, from her neck all the way down to her legs.

For once, Nyhl did not look to be disturbed by her seductive behaviour. He just kept his eyes fixed upon hers. "Stop calling me that." He spoke with a deadly serious tone, disproportionate to the casual contents of the sentence.

Natalya smiled and shook her head once, softly. As she stepped towards the door, I could hear the darkness in her voice. "That's the exact reaction I'd expect from a younger brother."

The door shut behind Natalya as Nyhl staggered backwards and fell into the chair, the little colour in his face draining away. He dropped his face into his hands. "Master Cain, Leaf, please go… it's going to start pouring soon."

I was not sure if what he said actually made sense, but Cain seized the chance to exit the scene with some grace. Leaf came over to me, gave me a quick farewell hug somewhat cautiously, and followed the mage.

"Are you okay?" Oread found her voice at last. "What's the deal between you and Natalya, anyway? First it seemed that she had the hots for you or something, now… I don't know what to call it."

"She was only playing around before." Nyhl lifted his head; his eyes were narrowed and he was frowning slightly, as if he was deep in concentration. "I don't know why, but I think… somehow, she _hates_ me."

Oread grunted. "Still, we have to work with her. You know that, right?" She rested her head on one hand. "She's been around this area; she knows this place better than any of us. We haven't really seen any, but she has valuable skills for sure."

"Is it that tough?" I asked. I did not like Natalya much. She disrupted the mood all the time during conversations, and always escalated a neutral situation to the point that it turned explosive. "Are the three of us not enough to handle Mephisto's minions?"

"I don't know about _those_ monsters, but I've seen enough to make me want to take up her offer, believe it or not." Oread shifted her gaze to Nyhl. "I mean, she _did_ have a point. Didn't Ormus or someone say that we need Khalim's Will to get to Mephisto? We can't get to the Pandemonium Fortress without going pass Mephisto, apparently, and Natalya's the only one around who can use that weird flail."

"If it has to be done this way, so be it." Nyhl sighed. "As long as she doesn't try to kill me along the way."

"I won't let her do that." Said Oread quickly. "I won't let her have the fun of doing that before I can."

"Thanks for the reassurance." The Necromancer replied, his tone completely devoid of humour.

Oread opened her mouth and made a soft nasal sound, but then decided to hold her tongue.

Overhead, a single thunder clapped furiously, and the rain began.


	37. Chapter 29 and a half: Nadya

Should it be considered problematic when the major origin of one's motivation is guilt?

In any case, it seems to work. Thanks to Emmy who supplied it. I'm just too uninspired sometimes, and usually I'm too busy with uni and/or deviantART to write anything that doesn't sound like one of my science units' reports. Though the judo classes that I'm addicted to should help with my knowledge regarding how joints should NOT bend.

This is a battle scene I've been trying to put off; I have no idea how I'll perform when writing four people in a battle. Let's see how it is then, shall we?

**Disclaimer:** Blizzard owns _Diablo_ blah blah blah yeah. Emmy owns the word "Carrhandi", because she doesn't suck at making up pretty-sounding words like I do.

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Chapter 29.5

**Nadya**

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BOOOOOM!

It'd sounded almost like an explosion, the destruction of the Compelling Orb; now the sound no longer hangs in the air, as battle ensues and the only sounds filling the space around us are those of slaughter – high-pitched, but short-lived.

Hearing seems to be so much more useful than vision in this kind of heated battles. One can only see what is before him, but hearing can extend much further beyond.

Arrows whizzing through the air. From two directions: one behind me to the left, and another directly to my right, but further away.

And Natalya right at my back, the sound of her claw and katar ripping through tough skin to sink directly into the soft flesh beneath. A great splash of cold, thick blood on my left shoulder. I can taste some in my mouth as the momentum forces it on, until it splattered across the face of one of the Stygian Dolls I'm facing, who was probably a close relative of the Flayers.

By gods I hate these little pests.

The monster is startled, and I behead it with the split-second chance. Its companion shrieks and leaps up to plant a spear through my skull. My left hand is ready on the hilt of my dagger. The monster's throat is exposed as it cries a call of battle; I feel my heart beat a little harder as I go for the kill –

Something rams into my upper back and sends me falling. I manage to stop myself landing on my face just in time, and look up to see Natalya delivering a sharp kick. The small monster holds up its spear to parry the blow, but the assassin's kick breaks it and lands squarely in the monster's groin. The Doll's face contorts far beyond what I thought it capable of, before it explodes from the sheer impact of the kick.

Natalya looks down to me, smirking. I feel as if someone had poured ice-cubes down the back of my shirt… wonder if that's meant to be some sort of threat.

"That's really quite dirty." Fortunately, I seem to manage keeping my voice steady.

Before I can get back to my feet, there comes a stream of hot air from behind. Natalya and I both drop down to avoid it, and as I bounce back up I spin around to slash through the enemy's midsection. The fallen mage watches its guts spill out for a moment before it all registers, and let out a shriek of terror. I decide that I don't have the leisure to watch it groan and writhe, so I silence it with a cut across the throat.

I briefly inspect Natalya's work – a pile of assorted corpses, all covered with blood and other body fluids (and some diced-up solid bits as well). I'm just about to break away from this distraction and concentrate again, when I realise that it's gotten quiet… well, relatively so. There are still soft sounds in the background, the promise of the imminent resumption of battle.

"Is everyone alive?" Oread's voice is made hoarse by a great sigh. "No-one's lost a part of their body?"

"Well, that Doll's just lost his –"

"Let's keep going. There's more just on the other side of the walls." I manage to intercept Natalya's vulgar joke, and in retaliation, she grants me a death stare.

I thought I'd be used to death stares by now, but compared to Oread's… Natalya's are just from a different league.

We venture through the rest of the first level of Mephisto's refuge – "Durance of Hate", I believe that's what the people of Kurast called it – and encounter two more battles of similar intensity. We've decided that we want to save our strength, so although the voices wail on in the back, we go straight for the next floor down, after Natalya's set a few traps near the entrance of the stairwell.

In the safety ensured by the narrowness of the stairs, we regroup properly for the first time since we set foot within the confines of the Durance. The stairs are dark and horribly clammy, but we've agreed (with a certain degree of objections from Natalya, which resulted in a brief but heated exchange) to confide in Oread's and Celadon's Inner Sight.

"How're the supplies?"

"We should have enough. I've picked a few things up back there."

"Same, but I'm running low on arrows."

"You can have my spare quiver, Celadon."

"Thanks, but –"

"We can always open a portal if need be."

"All right. Everyone's got enough potions?"

A moment of the bright golden glow of the Horadric Cube filling the space. "Now I do."

"I think demons can sense it when you activate such a holy item, Oread."

Indeed, the cries of monsters are approaching, as the ground beneath our feet start to rumble with the deep, thunderous voices. Ormus spoke of "Wailing Beasts"… and now I think I know why they're named that.

"My bad." Oread's voice is nonchalant, as expected. Natalya snorts, but no comments are made on such remark.

The sounds get nearer. The muffled noises are becoming distinct battle cries. "Celadon, can you tell how many levels this thing has?" I ask the Rogue. Between her and Oread, she has greater skill with her insight.

"I can't sense anything below –"

"Three." Natalya cuts her off. "The level below this is Mephisto's hideout." A gust of wind rose from the floor and encircled her body. "So let's finish these off and call it a day."

She charges down the stairs, her feet seeming to glide over the steps. I charge up my Bone Armour before following her – there's no need to hold back on mana now that I know how much more there is to come.

On my entrance to the open chamber two monsters crash against my Armour. Almost at once two arrows zip past either side of my head, one landed in an eye, and the other square in the throat. I focus my energy and the corpses explode before they hit the floor.

"Thanks, Necromancer, now I'm all covered in bloods and bits. And I think I have a bit of lung in my mouth." Oread splutters from a foot or so in front of me. Both of them have already run ahead.

"You're welcome. You shouldn't have kept your mouth open." I hear a cuss, then the familiar sound of an arrowhead exploding into flames.

I sneak a look around. This level is similar to the one above, but it's a lot more open. There are four doorways leading from this large central chamber, one at the middle of each wall. Three are open, with monsters pouring out of them; the one at the opposite wall to the stairs is closed, blocked with a dark, polished slab depressed into the stone wall. Ominous energy radiates from it.

"Celadon!" She's the closest to the entry to Mephisto. "Try and get that doorway open. It's the entrance to the bottom level."

An energy-driven gale comes from my left; I let myself fall and a large fist just missed my shoulder joint. I respond to the sharp sensation of burning with five Teeth in the beast's skull. It topples over, and I manage to explode it into shreds before it crushes me.

I get to my feet and shake my blood-soaked bangs off my eyes. The larger demon's blood feels warmer than my own, which is seeping from the new cut in my shoulder. "Celadon?"

Oread is in Celadon's place, as the mercenary defends her master. "It says here that the chamber must be washed with the blood of two hundred before the seal is released." She looks back. "_Are _there two hundred monsters in here?"

"In any case, we'll just have to kill 'em all." Natalya grinned as she lunges herself at a Dark Lord. The power of her whole body is channelled into her victim, which happens to be a minion of the Fallen. The kick lands square in the chest and the small monster doubles up sharply, beyond what's physically possible, as blood spurted from its eyes, nose and mouth. It flies like a rag doll into its fellow minions standing behind; as the corpse explodes at my will, the entire group is annihilated, their shattered bodies painting an abstract mural on the stone wall behind it in bright, fiery colours.

"We make a pretty good team, Nyhl." Natalya laughs, apparently very amused by her own comment.

"Don't joke about stuff like this."

"You'd be better off if you keep the killing going, instead of taking the time to talk back." The metal of her claw-katar pair buzzes with unreleased potential power, and she finds her new targets in a group of Dark Lords in the corner to her right. A few shouts as she hacks at the monsters, then a loud _whoosh_ and a mild wave of heat as she scorches them to death.

But it's her words that held me… no, it _can't_ mean that she knows anything about my damaged mana system. I'm over-interpreting things…

A howl, then it stops abruptly, replaced by a gurgling noise. My eyes focus onto a Cadaver, its mouth agape with a pointed blade protruding from it. The gurgling stops, and as the body falls, the vertically-positioned blade slices the head in clean halves from the mouth up.

"Watch your ass, stupid Necromancer!" There stands Oread, her spear still held up high, with fragments of the Cadaver's brain slowly sliding off it.

One bit drips off. _Shlop_.

And that sounds all too familiar.

But what's more important… there's a _Cadaver_ on the floor… I reach out and jerk Oread over the rapidly-putrefying corpse between us, silence her with my hand over her nose and mouth, and try to throw up a Bone Wall as quickly as possible.

I can barely make it in time. Small streams of poisonous gas wafts between the gaps in my defence, and even though I'm holding my breath, the poison manages to singe my airways. It doesn't feel like it's done too much damage, but I still can't help but choke and cough a few times.

"Oh, shit!" Oread exclaims, and then she whips around to slash open the belly of a Wailing Beast. She bends over me as the massive string of intestines of her recent kill starts to pile up on the floor. "I've got no antidote on me –"

"I'm all right; it wasn't a direct hit." I start to stand and she offers me her hand. I take it, somewhat surprised by the deed. "Thank you."

"Likewise." She replies, and dashes off to assault some Stygian Dolls.

My Bone Wall breaks down, and up come more Cadavers, their eyes rolled back and their mouths open, fetid-looking muck dripping down their chins from their mouths and nostrils.

They're in a tight group. I trap them with a prison made from the bones of their own allies, then distance myself from the group before I send Teeth flying into and through them. Green, grey and brownish gunk makes heavy strokes of deathly shades on the floor... another fine work of art.

… Damn, I can't be admiring this. My hand gestures my wish for their souls' peace in the afterlife almost automatically. I suppose this can calm me down a bit.

It works; but as my mind refocusses, I also realise that my threshold is running low. This has to be finished off quickly.

I do a quick check. About forty or so enemies left and the other three are far away enough. Good. I haven't used this in a while…

Turning my back away from my companions, I gather that there are about twelve monsters within my range, and at least thirty corpses. Plentiful. I'm confident that I can restrict the effective area…

Some fireballs are hurdling towards me. I try to dodge them as I establish connections between my mind and the creatures of decay within the bodies. A fireball catches me in the side, but I'm close…

It's done.

The creatures are humming voicelessly in my mind. They want to claim the bodies, and I can give them the strength to do this a whole lot more efficiently.

So I give it to them.

The humming stops as the wet squirming sounds take over. The bodies are being consumed and dense clouds of ink-blue smoke pour forth from their wounds and openings. The living demons are being engulfed by the corrosive gas, their bodies decompose, starting with the eyeballs and the tongue. The hair and nails drop off, and then the lips and fingertips go. Skin melts away to reveal flesh of colours that vary from monster to monster – the Beasts' are bright red, the Fallens' brown, the Dolls' a delicate fuchsia, the Dark Lords' violet.

Organs drop out of body cavities, hanging on at first by the major blood vessels, and then helplessly splattering onto the floor, squashing out blood bubbles from beneath as the pile grows bigger. The bones finally appear, bloody at first, but gradually fade to bleached white.

And the lives leave the bodies, now reduced to naught by a puddle of thick dark slime. The final screams hang in the air.

It always amuses me somewhat that the voice boxes are the last to go.

"Holy damn, Necromancer." Oread's voice is shaking. The chamber is quiet again.

"Is it all done?" I turn around to see all three of them standing there. Natalya's trying to flick blood off her weapons, Celadon's gazing into the newly-opened doorway into pitch-blackness, and Oread's just gawking at me with a slight frown.

"For today, yes." Natalya is still cleaning her blades, but she looks at me once every few seconds out of the corner of her eyes. It's better for me to shift my own eyes away from her.

"It seems to be quiet." Celadon's trying to look into the dark entrance to Mephisto's lair. "I don't think they're gonna come up."

Regardless, Natalya set up an elaborate array of traps before we left via a portal. Oread takes note of her caution, and Natalya is usually sincere in showing her appreciation.

Celadon and Oread step through the portal first, and I'm finally able to inspect the doorway. The slab that closed it off has slid up to reveal the stairs, but a little section still hangs over the top of the entrance. A few runes are still partially-readable, and –

They're in Carrhandi.

The native language of the Necromancers.

Oread can read it…

A hand on my shoulder. It makes me jump, but Natalya appears to have taken no notice of it.

"We need to talk."

"Huh?"

"Meet me before the altar of the Gidbinn at two hours past midnight. It's important… no-one else must know about this, or I'll kill you." Her eyes never lifted from the floor throughout her speech, but her voice alone promises that she's not joking at all.

* * *

The sky's cloudy tonight, and the air is light but stagnant… it's probably going to rain before sunrise.

Natalya is standing beside the altar, fully dressed. Her eyes seem to have been fixed upon mine ever since I came into her view. I wonder if she _is_ going to kill me…

"So… you wish to speak to me, Natalya?" I try to make my voice sound as assertive as possible. This woman… every time she looks at me it's like she's trying to rip something from me. Something that wouldn't easily or pleasantly yield.

And her presence… it resonated with something deep inside, a part of me that I've tucked away into the dark depths of memory.

"Yes." She replies, stern and cold. Her cheery, crude façade seems to dissolve with those words, and when she looks back, her eyes appear as if they've put up some kind of smoke screen – I fail to read anything from them. They're focused and undiverting, directed at me, yet they don't seem to be… _looking_.

She holds out a closed hand. "I think… after what I saw today, I can be sure that I know who you are." Her tone is kept flat, as her other hand tries to touch my face. I draw back, a little too sharply than what's proper, but her expression doesn't falter. "How long has it been… almost ten years? You've changed a lot, Nyhl."

I try to imagine a ten-years-younger-Natalya; she's probably in her mid- to late-twenties, I think. A teenage Natalya… it's not hard to get the picture. She has a very youthful face.

Only now she seems to have aged twenty years.

"What's your point?" I ask. By instinctive reflex I was weary, alert. There was instability in the air; a potential that may soon explode.

"Do you recognise _this_, young Necromancer?" The way she says it reminds me of Oread for a split second, inspiring a sick feeling in my chest. She opens her hand.

Lying in the centre of her palm is a round medallion that serves as a silver pendant for a necklace. I step in for a closer look. A concentric, symmetrical pattern weaved by thorned vines, boasting a hummingbird in the centre, its wings spread and entangled in the deathly bondage.

"My brother's." I conclude. I'd have snatched at it if it weren't for the weird way she's acting now. She didn't come out to taunt me with this; there must be some greater purpose in her actions. Still… "How did you get it?"

"You make it sound as if I'd stolen it." I'd thought she would accompany such words with a smirk, but she looks almost a little… sad? However it is, this is getting on my nerves. How she got the medallion is one thing, but as an Assassin of the Vizjerei, I don't think it'll be much of a surprise.

"It's mine, Nyhl. I own it. With every right."

Okay, I was wrong. She's doing this with less style than I'd expected. I open my mouth to ask for it –

"Rien gave it to me."

"What?"

"Your brother, Nyhl. Is it too hard for you to recall his name?" Natalya strokes the medallion with her other hand with surprising delicacy. Her eyes are now fixed upon it, in a sort of distant, longing gaze that's chillingly eerie.

After an agonisingly long moment, she continues. "Rien gave it to me when he asked for my hand in marriage." Her voice grows gradually louder, as her body tenses up and her aura boils with anguish and defensiveness. "Your people have taken everything from me, Nyhl! I know the Vizjerei isn't the most popular order in the Sanctuary, but… do you have any idea how much I've given up for Rien?"

She's shouting now.

I've nothing to say to her; I'm just trying to run everything through my head and make some sense out of it all.

"I left my family for him; I was banished from my order because of him. Yet what do I get in the end? I don't even get to kiss my fiancé goodbye?"

_It finally clicks._

… Damn, I've never actually met her before? Oh yes, Brother went through a few rows with Father because of this. No wonder…

She's mad. She comes up to me and seizes me by the collar, pulling me down so that my eyes level with hers. My spectacles slip a little, but she's so close that her light-olive eyes are in perfect focus.

"I know what you did," she slurs the words through her teeth, and then tugs me forward sharply, positioning her face to whisper in my right ear. "What you did at the funeral… that was the first time I'd seen you. You couldn't see me; nobody could see me. I daren't show my face in your parents' presence, but I had a perfect view of you."

…

"You thought you were alone, then?"

I swallow; my throat feels like it's coated with sand.

She goes on in that hiss-like whisper. "You've the same eyes as Rien, except for the lighter blue." She still has my collar as she forces me back a little, and her eyes come into view again. "They're just as I remember them… It amazes me, you know, how eyes of the softest shades can belong to such a remorseless child."

"He deserved it." I don't know if she can hear it, but I can feel my voice starting to quiver. She knows, and she's blackmailing me with it. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, perhaps you won't be so confused if I told you a little more, or maybe if you actually face what you've done, you little bastard." She let go of me with a shove of such force that I stagger back a few steps; before I can establish my footing my knees give in and I fall, right before her. "Are you scared of the past?"

"I don't like what's happened, but I had nothing to do with it." My control over my voice has gone out the window; I can't even bring myself to look at her.

"What a blatant lie."

I don't think I even saw a shadow, but something strikes me hard enough on the right cheekbone to make my vision blur for a few seconds. I hear my spectacles clatter on the ground off to my left. "You _know_ that's a bloody lie! He died because _you_ got in the way! He left the citadel to go back to those shits who called themselves his parents!"

My face is burning like crazy; she'd kicked me in the face. She's not afraid to get violent, but this isn't going to scare me into submission. "Don't talk about my mother like –"

"_Shut up!_" Her voice sounds closer; she must be leaning over me. "Your mother was weak and so were you! He went back to protect you! And then a month, a whole _month_ later they told me that my fiancé's funeral's in five days?" She somehow got her leg under to hit me in the chest, and then she flips me over and slams my back to the ground, pins me down with her entire body and starts screaming in my face.

"What did you people think I was? Vizjerei or otherwise, I was Rien's fiancée and wife-to-be, for holiness' sake! They didn't even tell me anything! Who killed him, when he was killed, nothing!"

"Nadya!" She's had me winded, but I somehow manage to force out the name.

She stops. I grab at the chance to calm her down and avoid certain death by her hands. "You… You've taken on the job of a mercenary to escape it?"

Her eyes are getting teary, and they dart about aimlessly in tired anxiety. She relaxes, and I free myself from under her, but get only to my knees to stay at her level.

A teardrop rolls out of her left eye. "Until I met you… I didn't think anyone would…" She sniffs and wipes her eyes hastily with her hand. In the back of my mind, rather inappropriately, I wonder what would've happened to me if she was the one who found me in Flayer Jungle.

"Say the name again."

So it _is _her, the one I remember hearing about but only ever have a hazy image of. "Nadya."

"You sound like him…" Her head droops. I can no longer see her face.

I sit with her for a few minutes, and when it's established that neither of us can manage to conjure up anymore words concerning the topic, I break the silence. "Nadya, please… don't tell anyone –"

"Nadya died with Rien. So, you don't want Oread to know?" She lifts her head, and when she starts to smile I feel a chill down my spine. It's going to take a while to get used to this. "She sort of reminds me of those days, really, the way she acts around you. Is it really right to hide such things from your love?"

My insides clench and I taste acid in the back of my throat. My hand finds my spectacles on the ground and subconsciously, I put them back on. "I can't love her."

"But you do."

"I'll… let her know when it's right."

A lopsided grin; the "Natalya" personality is creeping back quickly. Perhaps she was right – Nadya was buried with her love. "I see."

I start to reply, but there's no use trying to bargain, nor to justify myself. "All right, what do you want?"

"Just a little truth."

"That's ironic."

"I want every detail this time. No lies, no secrets, no obscurities. I want to know what really happened to Rien, what happened to you and your family, what happened at the funeral."

"Are _you _afraid of the past, _Natalya_?"

"No, just scared of dying without knowing."


	38. Chapter 30: Evanescence of Existence

Yay for the established soon-to-be-existence of _Diablo III_!

Thanks a lot for those who've added me to their alert lists; though my reviews have hit a record low. Of course, that's not going to stop me from writing, but it's just… nice to know what people think of what I'm doing sometimes. So thanks a lot to **Rasbash**, **BloodHeron **and the ever-faithful **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**, who I owe so much to… just so much.

That bit in the beginning of this chapter about the mind reconstructing and believing in the reconstituted product is called "confabulation", and is an actual phenomenon that I've read about in a science magazine. I just find it fascinating.

And Emmy and I are on a sort of arms race, it seems. She calls it "symbiosis", though.

**Disclaimer:** I own jack-all when it comes to the actual games. That's why I'm still just a poor student.

**

* * *

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Chapter 30

**Evanescence of Existence**

* * *

The day we fought Mephisto was the most surreal day of my life.

It might be because I had hit my head hard enough to get some substantial temporary damage; or it might be the fact that Mephisto just had that hazy, smoky effect on one's memory. I may even be able to say that it was the way everything happened, sluggish but nevertheless seem to take place one over another; it was hard for my brain to follow.

Yet, in this deathly silent of the end, I am recalling the shreds of memory more clearly than ever before; the fragments are coming together, like a broken mirror being repaired piece by piece.

Of course, the image that one can see in such a mirror can never be perfect again – there are cracks and fractures that distort the picture, moving features slightly out of place; but the human mind can compensate for that. The human mind has that ability to reconstruct things, and best of all, it has the ability to _believe_ in the perfectly reconstructed memory, even if it contains elements of make-believe.

So I am going to try my best to remember it all, now, and hope to the gods – if they are listening, if they are _there_ – that what I am recalling is not mere make-believe. The memories may be painful, but what is worse… is the possibility that they will fade away forever, just like the lives of my companions.

People say that one still lives as long as one is remembered, so what happens when those memories die as well? Do they simply cease to be… cease to have been?

I do not want to forget; perhaps that is why I am recalling it now, even though I know of the chances of my sanity breaking down with these haunting thoughts. Even though, deep inside, where emotions are neglected and there is only the truth… I know I cannot preserve them forever.

Such is the evanescence of existence.

* * *

It had been almost two weeks since we had cleared out all but the last level of the Durance. It seemed that although none of us had sustained any serious injuries, there was an endless list of reasons to postpone the final battle. Mephisto did not seem to be making a move; we had returned to the second last level a few times to see what we could scavenge – which is yet another made-up reason to delay the final battle – and the chamber, although filled with the repugnant sounds of decomposers at work, was otherwise silent, almost peaceful. Aside from this, Oread always went off to "train", Nyhl to "talk" with whoever sounded like they belong in an appropriate excuse, and Natalya… just was not there most of the time.

Finally, I had to call the shots. It was dinner time, and Natalya was actually present that night. Asheara's band of Iron Wolves made up most of the crowd, as usual.

"Pardon me." I moved my chair back to stand up as I finished my drink. "Excuse me, everyone! I have an announcement to make!" I shouted at the top of my voice, but the crowd's chatter droned out my words.

"What are you doing, Celadon?" Oread asked, hiding her anxiety under a thin layer of innocent ignorance. She knew what was coming, it seemed. All the more reason to get it over with before she could talk me out of it.

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and the room fell quiet within seconds. I looked to my left and saw Leaf with her thumb and index finger in her mouth.

"Meshif taught me." She signed.

"Thank you." I smiled, and she beamed back. It was odd that sometimes Leaf seemed like the most reasonable of my companions. I thought she must also be irritated that we have been procrastinating for so long. It might be her demon senses, I was not sure… but she had been more restless for the past fortnight.

"Tomorrow morning," I said as loudly as I could, while making sure that my voice came out clear; my heart was pounding, and I can feel my ears getting hot, "we will attack Mephisto's hideout. Await our good news, citizens of Kurast!"

Everyone cheered; many clinked their glasses together. I barely breathed my sigh of relief when a hand landed on my shoulder roughly and pulled me back down onto my seat.

"Why wasn't _I_ notified of this?" Oread said quietly, but she was furious. Her hand was still on my shoulder, and it was tightening; it started to hurt.

"Oread, _no-one_ was notified." Nyhl's deadpan voice from across the table. Somehow, he was more intimidating than my master now. "It appears that Celadon took matters into her own hands this time 'round."

"I'm outta here." Natalya spat, as her chair scraped the floor loudly. She turned to go, but Leaf hopped off her own chair and took Natalya by the wrist.

"If I hadn't done that, how much longer will you guys put it off for?" I defended.

Oread took her hand off my shoulder, and for a moment she got ready to slap me, I was sure of it; but then she moved her hand and pounded hard on the table instead. Some water splashed out of Leaf's glass. "That was dirty, you wh–" she refrained from naming me with the obscenity at the last moment, but just barely managed. "That was just really dirty, Celadon. I'm your master, you're my mercenary. Do you realise how improper your behaviour was?"

"Regardless of how I'm meant to behave, Master, I have to do what's right, above everything else. If it can get some sense back into you all, then sack me, by all means. It was worth it just for trying."

Oread looked like she was about to refute my point, and after giving me a severe look that a parent would give to a child needing discipline, she sighed. "However rude that was of you, I guess you _do _have a point." She turned to address the others. "You guys… are you free tomorrow, then?"

Something in the absurdly offhanded way Oread said that actually made Nyhl smile. It was a sad little one, but it was enough to warrant another "for" vote. "Can't be helped." He shrugged.

"Natalya?" I turned to the Assassin. Something about her had gone soft since the day we returned from the Durance two weeks ago. She seemed more… _human_, somehow. She seemed less cold, and less sarcastic, but she also joked less. Perhaps she senses some impending doom?

"Natalya, you promised." Nyhl said without looking at her. Natalya returned with a glare, but the Necromancer paid no attention to that. That was another thing – Nyhl no longer seems to be scared of Natalya, though he did seem more… weary of her, if that makes any sense. Like an irrational phobia had turned into a rational fear, or something.

I heard voices from my room that night we came back. Natalya was crying, and once I thought I heard Nyhl shouting. I could be wrong. Oread was sound asleep, and I dared not confirm my observations that night with her – for some reason, that did not seem like the sensible thing to do. Oread might be… jealous? That was only my intuition, but better safe than sorry. I probably was not meant to overhear their exchange anyway.

"There's no way out except this, then?" Natalya turned back towards the exit, hiding her face, but her tone was sombre. It made me anxious, and even a little regretful for deciding this on my own. "Right. I'll see you all in the morning."

She gave her wrist a flick and Leaf's hands fell away from her. She walked straight out and closed the door surprisingly softly – I was half-expecting her to slam it.

"Just so you know, Celadon," Nyhl was playing with his empty glass; "if anything happens to any of us tomorrow, it won't be your fault… but you'll feel terrible about it."

"You're a jerk. Stop saying things like that." Oread put her head down onto the table, looking defeated.

"I'm just saying."

"You have absolutely no manners." She grumbled.

Leaf scratched away at a piece of parchment – she always carried some, and a quill and ink, in a little bag._ Mephisto is planning to break out once his body is completely recovered._

"How'd you know?" Oread said, in that depressed, pessimistic tone.

_I can sense it. Attack while you still have the chance to restrain him. _

"There really _is_ no helping it." I shrugged; the gesture felt so casual, almost indecent… actually, it _was_ indecent.

For a long moment, no-one had any valuable remarks worth sharing; finally, Oread provided the table with her conclusion regarding the situation.

"Damn it."

* * *

The depressed atmosphere stayed with us in the morning, as we ate breakfast. The lack of a proper conversation made me extremely uneasy.

"Hey everyone," I started, "I'm sor–"

"There's no need to apologise." Nyhl cut in.

"You didn't really do anything wrong. We should really get this over with anyway." Oread added.

That actually made me feel worse, for some reason.

According to the local customs of Kurast, a warrior going off to a major battle always receive blessings from the high priest, who happens to be Ormus in this case; but when I suggested this, the other three's answers were resolute –

"I don't believe in that stuff."

"It's just a placebo."

"Well, it's not like the gods were on our side to begin with."

I wondered if they still hated me for yesterday. Though I would rather have them hate me, than to be hopeless with the actual situation.

As I passed through the Portal leading to the entrance to Mephisto's domain, I wondered if anyone amongst us was going to see the light of day for the last time. We lost Falcon last time; it did seem like the gods did not listen.

I understood then: we lived in a world reigned by the forces of hell. Praying to the gods would do nothing at all.

* * *

"You sure you're okay, Celadon?" Oread asked as I swallowed the bottle of red potion.

"As long as we don't run out of potions or places to back off to, I'll be fine." I tossed the empty vial towards the burning, crackling corpse of a Council Member near the wall opposite to where we had now regrouped. There was a sharp ring as the glass bottle exploded.

So _this_ was what Oread and Nyhl encountered back at the Travincal. No wonder they got back in the state they were in.

Still, we have four people now, and surely we have a better chance this time…

It feels like we had been down here for ages, even though we had only cleared out the mere guards of the Lord of Hatred. Mephisto himself was just behind these walls – I could hear him bellowing and wailing for us to come out of hiding and face him.

"Isn't Mephisto not fully-regenerated?" Asked Nyhl, as he flicked the blood off his blade.

"Who knows, he might just be bluffing." Natalya sneered.

It might be that our blood had finally started to boil again after what seemed like forever, because as soon as battle commenced, everyone gradually returned to casual speaking terms again. For us warriors of the Sanctuary, this might be what sustains our spirit.

"With all the yelling and cursing, he's not coming out to _us_; you're probably right." Oread remarked, as she tried to recover as many arrows as possible from the fallen demons.

"We have to fight him sooner or later." I could not restrain the annoyance from my words; they were procrastinating again.

"When we're all ready." Oread waved me off, her expression betraying a hint of dread.

"We should go." Nyhl sounded uneasy, but at least I knew now that there was another person on my side.

"Any last words?" Natalya chuckled.

"That's way too morbid to warrant a laugh." Said Nyhl, completely devoid of humour.

"You shouldn't talk." Natalya threw him a dirty look, and then charged off.

"Hey!" I shouted after her, and followed along with the other two.

We turned a sharp corner, and Mephisto's chamber opened up before us, but I could not see much of it – the air was thick with his suffocating aura, and the entire place was filled with what felt like dense, white smoke.

Mephisto's hollow voice bellowed something, but it echoed so much that none of it was audible.

Next thing I knew, a stroke of lightning seared through the air, and before I could move, it struck me square in the midsection.

I could smell my clothes burning… then my body was burning. It felt like a few minutes before the fire subsided and I could think again. My muscles were jerking and twitching, beyond my control, and a burning sensation radiated outwards from the middle of my torso. There was no chance that I could aim like this. Better to try and get out of the way and recover as quickly as I could.

The other three were faring better than I was, at least. I could see Mephisto now – naught but an incomplete skeleton, the bones tinted violet and caked with dried blood. The skull was narrow, the jaws were jutted, and long, twisted horns protruded from the top. There was the skeleton for a pair of huge bat-like wings, arms with long fingers completed with claws, a cracked, deformed ribcage and a trailing string of vertebrae, but everything else about his body was immaterial. There were only the bones and the smoke.

I quickly swallowed the contents of another vial, and tried to aim. My hands were shaking less now, and my fingers were getting their feelings back. So I rejoined the battle. I found that I had to keep my mana running at a pretty high rate to keep my body moving – it appeared that while we were physically attacking each other, we were also engaged in a spiritual tug-of-war. Mephisto might have a weak physical body, but his magical strength compensated for it.

He summoned up a number of skulls from nowhere, tinted in the same violet as his own body. The silvery, smoky light poured from the eye sockets, and the skulls exploded into innumerable pieces of shrapnels, flying off in all directions.

Oread, Nyhl and I all managed to avoid the worst of it – Oread with her Slow Missiles, Nyhl with his armour of bones, and I was luckily out of range for most of them. Natalya, however, took quite a number of hits, most of them with her forearms that she had attempted to shield herself with, but a few had pierced or been embedded into her chest and abdomen.

"Hang in there, Natalya!" I shouted, but I thought it better to remain out of range. It was my best chance. I had no defence against such attacks.

Natalya just grunted, uncorked a bottle of antidote with her teeth, drank it, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing a line of red over her lips.

Mephisto screamed something, and sent bolts of chilled mana towards us. I countered by shooting at them with Fire Arrows. Oread was the closest to him, and almost made it in dodging them, but her feet were not quite fast enough, and a bolt caught her in the side of her knee, making her crash to the ground with a yelp.

Mephisto continued his attacks with another volley of bone missiles, this time sending the skulls out intact.

"Oread!" I called out to my master, who seemed somewhat dazed – it might have been the effect of the chill.

The fearful thought of her getting struck was beginning to surface when I saw Nyhl stepped in front of her, and blocked the skull with his sword. The skull blew up unexpectedly then – I could see the surprise in Nyhl's face for a split second – and he tried to put up some sort of defence, holding up his empty left hand and channelling mana into it at an alarming rate.

His power collided with the imbued shards, and while the attack was parried, I did not think that he quite made it in time. He was propelled backwards, bumped into Oread and bowled her over, but as soon as he found his orientations again, he jumped back to his feet and refocused on Mephisto.

Oread looked up, and seemed relatively unscathed, but irritated. She took out three arrows, and with a shout, fired them one after another at astonishing speed. The arrows almost had a life of their own, as they evaded Mephisto's attacks, which might have nullified them, and sought out their target – the centre of Mephisto's ribcage.

With that, the air of the battleground eased a little. Mephisto crumbled to the ground, his smoky mana turning significantly weaker.

"I'll have you share in my torment!" He cried. I could finally make out his words, now that his voice has gone softer.

None of us had the leisure to reply to that, as we persisted with our assaults. He had also given up on using his missile attacks, which meant that I could finally join the battle properly.

Mephisto attacked now with his wings and claws; they whistled through the air. While he had lost a good portion of his magical abilities, the speed of his physical attacks was unexpectedly fast. He got both Oread and Nyhl at the same time, his right hand ripping at Nyhl's leg, and his left at Oread's back. Both of them tried to strike back, but Mephisto had slinked out of their reach to attack Natalya.

The Assassin fared better than any of us did at that point. She was swift, and accustomed to close-quarter combat. She and Mephisto exchanged a few blows, and a smile had just begun to form at her lips when she suddenly stopped, clutched her chest, and coughed.

The blood that streamed from her mouth was black. It was poison. Mephisto's bone missiles had gotten her, and the antidote did not take care of it all.

Mephisto's jaws opened wide as if in laughter, and his skeletal wings flexed.

"Natalya!" My voice coincided with the slashing sounds of the sharp bones piercing Natalya's body. Mephisto had stabbed her with the bones of his wings in six places. Four in the torso.

Natalya's mouth opened a little more, as if to speak, but only a wet gurgling noise came out.

At that moment, I knew that she was beyond help.

Oread's shout echoed, then Nyhl's voice from somewhere. "Leave her, Oread."

I was feeling pretty disorientated. Perhaps Oread did not yet understand Natalya's sealed fate, because she tried to approach her doomed companion nonetheless.

Mephisto ripped his wings out of Natalya with wet, sickening sounds, accompanied by a fine mist-like spray of blood. She dropped straight down to the floor, a puddle of dark blood beneath her spreading quickly, tracing the outlines of the stone slabs that made up the floor. Natalya's head turned towards the rest of us…

… No. She was looking at _one _of us specifically. Nyhl. Smiling at him.

Oread had staggered to within ten feet of Natalya when Mephisto pounced at his fallen prey – or perhaps he was aiming at Oread, I could not tell for sure – and my body reacted by its own accord. I found the last arrow in my quiver, and shot it into the ground just inches in front of my master's advancing foot.

Oread looked up and our eyes met. Confusion and anger shimmered in hers, but only for a split second, before she looked back towards Natalya. As she did, we both felt it: Natalya died.

Then a thunderous bang, and we were both knocked off our feet as her body exploded. I could feel her blood, mixed with her last surge of mana, warm and slightly searing against the back of my neck, but Mephisto must have bore the brunt of the assault – he bellowed and cursed and his mana ran wild.

Oread shot two of her self-guiding arrows past either sides of my head, and Mephisto's scream came again, this time much closer – I could feel the wind generated by his jerking about on the back of my neck. He was moving faster than ever.

I jerked around and he was right there before my eyes; I could see the fractures in his skull, flecks of it were coming off.

Then that skull connected with my forehead, and I saw nothing for perhaps a good minute. He had head-butted me hard enough to send me arcing backwards though the air, and hit the ground again, the back of my head breaking the fall. I heard a definite _crack _and thought that I would pass out, but instead I just lost my sense of sight, on top of a lot of pain. I tried to figure out how badly I had hit my head, but all my mind gave me was the image of a cracked egg, with my brain as the exposed yolk. It was almost funny.

I could still hear, though, and I tried to listen through the blur of pain. There was the sound of Oread's spear as it cut through the air, then the crackling of lightning. Mephisto's aura has been reduced to such that was bearable even when I had ceased to supply my own body with mana; that was going well, at least.

I attempted to cast Inner Sight to improve my knowledge of the current battle, but my body refused my mind's request. I tried to turn over; I made it, and something wet and warm ran from the back of my head, down past the top of my right ear, across my right cheek and into my mouth. The blood was thick and salty in my mouth.

My eyes were sore, and I realised that although they were not working, they were still open. I closed them, and tried to refocus on my ears.

There were sounds of blades slashing and stabbing and bones cracking. "Take him down, Oread!" Nyhl huffed, sounding as if he was spent. Mephisto was screeching non-stop now.

"Is Celadon okay?" Oread screamed. I tried to tell her yes, but my voice was caught in my chest. I did not seem to be able to move at all now.

"Just take him down!"

And then there was a continuous string of sounds – exploding, slashing, crackling, breaking, choking, shouting… all superimposed, one on top of many others.

Then it got quieter and quieter. There was a final ring, and short and sharp _ting_. It did not even resonate… it was silent again. The air was still, and I was being lifted off –

That was when I could not distinguish between my conscious body and unconscious mind. It felt like floating, and warmth, and light… and then it all faded into a storm cloud – the dense and moist grey caressing my soul.

A storm may be imminent, but for now, let me rest in the momentary peace…


	39. Chapter 30 and a half: Bound

Thanks heaps to the reviewers! You guys help a great deal in keeping this alive, so give yourselves a pat on the back. I appreciate the time and attention you've dedicated to my writing. Here's a long chapter, but I hope it works.

I've made some changes to the canon way this is supposed to work; I mean, who likes a retell of the game, huh?

And a note to Emmy: you might like to take some aspirin before proceeding. I will not be responsible for any heart failure, strokes, seizures or other syndromes associated with spazzing.

**Disclaimer: **This is terribly depressing, but here goes – I don't own _Diablo_. Surprise surprise.

* * *

**Chapter 30.5**

**Bound**

* * *

"Take him down, Oread!" Nyhl commands. I've never heard him sound so… desperate before. I can feel my heart race faster. It pisses me off, somewhat – the fact that his words can have such an effect on me.

Then again, it can be because Celadon's in serious trouble. I can't take my eyes off Mephisto now, nor would it be a smart move to focus my Inner Sight on her, but I'm really worried…

"Is Celadon okay?" My voice comes out as a desperate, broken scream.

"Just take him down!" Nyhl shouts back, his breath barely catching on. I don't really understand how he can exhaust himself so quickly, but I sure hope that he's got some sort of a plan in his head. Otherwise, I'm sort of on my own, now.

My quiver is all but empty, and I can't feel much of my leg that's been struck earlier. My hands are shaking, making it difficult to aim my spear at Mephisto's skeletal, hollow body. He's still shrieking like mad; being this close to him, the air feels like it's got the consistency of water. I have to suck every breath in hard, and it isn't doing much good to the burning gashes in my back. Maybe it's Mephisto's aura, or maybe it's blood loss, but I'm starting to feel light-headed.

The next lightning-charged blow that I aim at Mephisto's spine misses, and ends up tangled between his ribs. I panic for a split second, then realise that this is really my chance.

I pour my energy into my spear as rapidly as I can. The lightning cracked, sending sparks of white-blue flying out from between the ribs and sizzling the bits of blue sinews that are still hanging onto the bones.

"Be careful!" Nyhl calls from directly behind my left shoulder. I jump a little; _when_ did he get this close?

He holds up a trembling hand, and ivory bones materialises before it, arraying themselves into an impenetrable wall. Just before Mephisto is completely obscured from sight, his left ribcage explodes. I can hear the splintered ribs bouncing off the walls, stone and bone alike.

I try to catch Nyhl's eyes, but he's got his head down, breathing heavily. The skeletons that make up the wall this time have minute specks of red blood over them, and I have an uncanny feeling that it's _his_ blood.

"We need to end this." My voice sounds strangely flat.

"You have one shot." He wheezes back. "Can you?"

"I'll have to."

He turns around, never lifting his head to look at me. I'm not bothering with Inner Sight at the moment; I have one chance, as he said.

Nyhl takes a second to focus, then put both his hands onto the wall, and the bones start to rearrange again; he manoeuvres close to Mephisto in two steps, closely evades a would-be-fatal stab at his chest, then gives a shout as the bones settle themselves into a dome-shaped cage around the demon lord.

"Oread!" He yells, barely audible above Mephisto's roar. A set of claws swipes past him, drawing blood from his side.

I try my best to calm down, conjure up the spiritual strength for Inner Sight again, and squint at the remainder of Mephisto's incomplete body. There's a bluish-violet glow from something protruding from what's left of his ribcage. I couldn't see it earlier because of his highly magic-resilient body, I'm guessing.

It's now or never. I ready my spear, powering it with energy that will soon explode into lightning strikes until the weapon starts to shiver in my hand, and try to recall the feeling that I get when I use Strafe with the bow. I can't miss this.

I launch it off. It flies between two thick bars of the cage, and hits the radiant mass in Mephisto's chest dead-on.

A sharp ring, and a bright flash that lasts only for an instant, but no explosion. The shrieking grows shriller; the air starts to thin as Mephisto's aura starts to swirl about his struck core. His makeshift body disintegrates, and the sparkling dust joins the whirlpool of the demon lord's cremation.

I close my eyes; the noise becomes louder and louder until I don't think I can bear it anymore… then it all stops.

I open my eyes again, and all that remains before them are my spear, a blue-violet, polished stone of a long oblate shape impaled by the tip of the spearhead, and a portal – not like the blue-glowing portals that lead to town, but one flaring with fiery tendrils of gold and silver, its centre a deep, dark void.

And it's shrinking as I marvel.

"Come on, Necromancer!" I snatch up my spear; the stone falls off, and I grab that and slip it into my pocket. I stagger over to Celadon, but Nyhl got to her before me, and lifts her off the floor ever so gently, taking care to support her head and neck.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"Yes!" My actions aren't justified at all; but I know, in the pit of my stomach, that we have to go this way.

He nods, and we step through the portal together.

* * *

Our feet meet hard, flat ground, and the scene opens up to my eyes – we're standing in what looks like a short length of cloister that ends abruptly with plain walls at either end, built entirely by polished stone of light grey, lit in a frosty wash of white by a row of simple lamps. The air feels dry and turbulent.

But this is no time for sight-seeing. "Is anyone there?" I shout as loud as I can, then something catches in my throat and a coughing fit takes over.

The last of the portal winks out behind me as a figure approaches. It's a woman with dark, tan skin, and a rather stout stature. My sight seems to be playing tricks with me – my brain really can't comprehend anymore than that at the moment.

"Hey," she calls, her smooth, contralto voice seeming to swim in the air.

"Can you help?" Nyhl looks down at Celadon in his arms, then directly at the woman.

She nods once. "Give her here."

The woman carries Celadon off to a blue tent in a corner, just outside of the short cloister-like structure. My head hurts… heck, everything hurts. And I'm just so tired… At least it's keeping my mind off what's happened –

"She'll be all right." Nyhl's voice from beside me. That bloody Necromancer. His voice invokes scenes of our recent battle: Mephisto's dying scream, Celadon getting struck, Natalya…

Natalya hitting the floor. Her body exploding spectacularly.

"_Leave her, Oread." _

A fierce heat in my body, channelling down my arm. I sidestep, pivoting on my leg without the injured knee, and before Nyhl can register my movement, I throw a punch at him.

My sore, grazed knuckles connect solidly with his left cheekbone. I think I can feel his spectacles' frame crack before they clatter on the floor. Not a single utterance from him; he's not even looking at me. That just pisses me off even more; I didn't even think that it was possible for me to get any angrier, but he just _loves_ proving me wrong.

"You _killed_ Natalya, you damn bastard!" My lungs hurt from the screaming, but I couldn't care less; my blood is still boiling. "You stood there and watched her get killed! You _used_ her! You used her life as bait, you goddamned heartless piece of shit!"

I never knew that I care this much for Natalya… but the way she died, when I feel like I really _could _have prevented it… there's still the desperate need to pummel him a bit more. I go for another hit –

He catches my hand by the wrist, holds on for only a split second, then there's a loud, sharp clap, and white stars explode into my vision.

I stumble a few steps to my left, barely able to regain my balance in time. My vision clears a little, my right cheek is burning and stinging like it's on fire. It feels wet, and some red droplets are clinging onto my eyelashes.

He'd slapped me…

I touch my face; it's hot, but I can't feel any cuts… my eyes move to his left hand, now hanging by his side. Blood's dripping off his fingers; I hadn't even noticed that before.

I look up at him. He's finally looking at me, his left eye squinting a little, but his expression is so cold, so severe –

"What would _you_ have done for her then?" He turned his head so that both his eyes focus on me. His voice is low, and sounds weak and breathless… and is it the lighting in this place, or does he look a bit flushed?

I turn my head away, but he takes my face roughly with his bloody hand and jerks it back, so that our eye contact still holds. "You couldn't do _anything_ at that stage. Did you expect Celadon and me to watch _both_ of you get killed?" He's shaking. "If you'd wanted a more extravagant explosion, then I'm sorry that I've stopped you from walking to your glorious martyrdom."

The biting sarcasm in his words sends tears welling up in my eyes; I can't help it. I don't want to break down in front of this man, but… I just can't help it anymore. The tears pool up behind my eyelids, then all of a sudden they start to stream out. The more I try to hold back, the worse it gets. I try again to turn away; he responds by tightening his grip on my jaw. My slapped cheek is throbbing with the crazy rhythm of my heart.

"Natalya… she sustained a lethal injury. She would've died one way or the other, so we might as well have her death mean something." He stops and huffs a bit; he's sweating quite a lot, I realise. "If sacrificing a dying person can save another, then it's only commonsensical –"

"So… you'd do it to anyone." I'm sobbing out the words. Damn, I feel so weak… My hand finds his collar, and tugs him closer. He gives in with surprisingly little resistance. "Is that right?"

"Perhaps…" His voice trails off.

I lift my gaze to meet his eyes just in time to see them close.

"Hey!" I cry out, catching him before he falls. His right hand, which has been gripping the left side of his abdomen, drops limply. His body feels hot against mine.

"Damn you, don't you _dare_ do this now!" I lay him down onto the floor as gently as I can with my aching body. I loosen his armour and see that there's a rip in his undershirt, where he'd been pressing on. I tear the shirt apart and realise that a large fragment of Mephisto's bones has cut him and is embedded in his flesh. There's not much bleeding, but the flesh that I can see in the open wound has turned black.

It probably isn't the best thing to do, but bleeding to death seems to be a better option than being rotted by poison from the inside out, so I stick my fingers into the wound and try to pull the bone out. The muscles have swollen up, and it takes me three tries before I manage to get deep enough in for some grip. Nyhl doesn't stir at all in the process.

The broken fragment of violet-tinted white bone is much larger than I thought. The shard of Mephisto's summoned skull was not much smaller than the size of the palm of my hand.

"I need help here!" I shout as loud as I can as black blood starts to pour out; my voice, shriller than I'd expected, ricochets off the thick stone walls, and came together in the form of a muffled echo. Panic takes over as I clamp my hands over the gushing wound, pressing down as hard as I can, my heart hammering so hard that I can feel it in my temples and in the hinge of my clenched jaws. The blood has started to turn red.

The wrath I had for him dissolves into anxiety. I just hope that he doesn't die on me.

Damn Necromancer!

* * *

This is pathetic.

Celadon has been heavily sedated, and stupid Nyhl is unconscious. I've gone to see Celadon, but the way she muttered in semiconsciousness was just too much for me to stomach.

So instead I'm here, watching my other companion as he sleeps.

Stupid Necromancer. Screw him for making me deal with this crap on my own. Dirty bastard.

I wonder how pitiful I look, moping around with bandages all over me. I don't feel much like talking to the only residents here, either – Jamella and Halbu, both blacksmiths; Jamella has a good bit of knowledge in sorcery and healing. Oh, and there's their kid: a sweet two-year-old girl called Kande. However cute she is, though, thank goodness she's not the noisy type. Not yet, at least.

Damn Nyhl sleeps so still. It's extremely dull to watch him sleep; and this is even more boring than the last time I've been in this position. Let's just hope that he doesn't sleep for as long this time.

Come to think of it, I'd also punched him in the face before he fell unconscious last time. I wonder how long it's been… a few months, maybe? I don't know. My sense of time's never been very good. Either way, it feels different as I watch him now. This time I feel less patient for him to wake up.

When was the last time I'd cried in front of another? I'd cried when Falcon passed away, but no-one saw that. It was nowhere as much of a "breakdown" as it was this time around, either.

Why is it that I can't hold up my resistance against this man?

I know it's futile, but I still shoot a glare at him.

Damn his hair is dark… so dark that when the sunlight is on it, it doesn't show up brown, but just dark grey, almost bluish. And it's long. It looks strange when his hair is untied. I haven't seen him with it down since I first dragged him back with me…

Shit, now I'm thinking nonsense.

A dark purple bruise has formed on his face from my punch. I touch it with my hand, feeling the harder bump. He still feels so hot, too. The skin of his left hand to halfway up his forearm has discoloured blotches the sickly shade of gore, but there are no open wounds – Jamella said that sometimes a person might push their mana systems so far that the conduits burst, and the power damages the surrounding tissues so much that blood literally seeps out from the pores of the skin…

Maybe I've been too harsh… sure, the graceless way he said it made it sound so terribly merciless, but it probably _was_ the right thing to do. And he made darn sure that it was done right.

I try to recount the people who died in my lifetime that I know by name. First there was my mother, Meliad, whom I can't remember a single thing of, even though it wasn't until I was five that she passed. Next was Naiad, then Alseid, and then… Falcon. Followed by Natalya.

Why does it seem like the people with the most vigour, those with the strongest will, the ones who had the most drive to live… why do they have to die first? And now I'm here, nice and alive, while Celadon and Nyhl are fighting for _their_ lives.

Somewhere along the line, I wonder how Leaf is doing… hopefully Asheara and Cain are taking care of her.

My companions have stayed with me, fought alongside me, saved me. I wonder if I really deserve them.

And Nyhl… this man that's saved my life several times already. He says that he's staying with me to repay me, but he's done a lot more than what was needed to pay off his debt, surely.

If he's awake, I probably wouldn't have all this idle time to think and get so confused. Stuff him! Just _when_ did he manage to get hit, anyway? I didn't even notice it –

Unless it was when I'd been caught in the knee and stumbled over, and he'd just sort of just… pushed in front of me, parried a blow and had jumped straight back up… it didn't occur to me that he'd gotten hit…

"Seriously, Necromancer, darn you." I say aloud, half-expecting that he'll respond. He doesn't.

I slump back further into my chair beside his bed, sighing through my nose. Maybe it's good that he's still unconscious, after all… I've all this time to think about how I'll deal with him once he wakes up –

A grunt.

I refocus on Nyhl. His brows tighten, his eyelids quiver, and then he grits his teeth and grunts again.

"Hey," my hand reaches for his forehead; it's still quite warm, but it seems like the fever's gone down. I feel my chest and shoulder muscles relax; I didn't even know that they were tensed up so much. "Take it easy…"

He turns his head towards me; then very quickly, very instantaneously, his eyes snap open. The familiar blue and grey, looking incongruously pallid compared to the darkness of his hair – it makes me remember the first time I'd seen those eyes…

"Oread…" He croaks.

"Stay still; I'll go get someone." I stand up to go, but his bad hand grips my wrist. I turn back.

"I'm all right."

I let out an anxious chuckle. "You're 'all right'? That's what you said back at the Durance, and _now_ look how it turned out."

He just smiles back.

I should be furious with him, but the temper just isn't quite reaching there. "Just… oh, you idiot! You took that blow for me, didn't you? _Why _did you do that? After all that preaching about rationality, it turned out that _you_ risked your life for me. _Again_. Does it really appear to you that I can't take care of myself? Do I seem th–"

"I've said this before," he interrupts, "you can't expect me to just stand by and watch you get killed. In your position back there, the hit would've gone straight through your head. I was pretty sure that I'd live even if I took it –" His voice is stopped short by a succession of coughs.

"You should be careful, Necromancer; you might be thinking too highly of yourself." I try to add a sneer into my tone, but I fail and end up sounding worried.

He grins, but the coughing must have strained his injuries; he's gritting his teeth and pressing on the wound in his stomach. "And how is Celadon?" He inquires, abruptly shifting my focus away from him.

"She's still unstable in condition." I can't help but sigh as I say it; I'm terribly worried for her, I'll admit. "She's hit her head badly and Jamella says that she's not sure when she'll be out of danger. Even then she can remain unconscious for some time, and when she _does_ wake up she'll have to take it easy for a while."

I hate that I'm starting to tremble. Nyhl sees it; damn! "She'll pull through, I'm sure."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I truly believe that she'll be all right." He looks away for a moment. "Nothing recovers more quickly and efficiently than the body of a teenager."

"… That just makes you sound _so_ old." I can't help but smile a bit.

"I'm less than a year your senior, Oread." He's smiling, too. I _would _have retorted against that, but I'm really savouring this easiness between us. It's been a while since I've felt this relaxed, even with all the current problems that I should be worrying about.

We let the comfortable silence hold for a minute or so, and then he proceeds to bring everything together into perspective: "So, you're finally here. The Pandemonium Fortress of Hell."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do after you've slain Diablo?" He says this so heedlessly, as if he's not at all considering the possibility of death.

"I dunno…" I haven't thought about this. It had always seemed so far away, this prospect. "You, on the other hand… don't you have some assignment to proceed upon?"

"About that," his eyes look unfocused, "I've had a talk with Master Cain back in Kurast a short while ago."

"And you actually found your way out of _that_ talk. I'm astonished."

He flashes a quick grin before going on. "We concluded that I should be able to find something at Harrogath."

"Harrogath? In the mountains of the snowy north?" I jump at the mention of the name. "Isn't that where –"

"The Lord of Destruction's residing. Yes." He's stopped smiling; it's even gone from his eyes. "It's also the only functioning town in the surrounding region for hundreds of miles. If I can't find Arawn or at least a better idea of his whereabouts there, I don't know where else I can go."

I reach into my pocket and take out the bronze oval medal; I'd taken it from him when he'd passed out just so that it wouldn't get lost. It's about three inches long, less than two inches wide, and features a design of a horned skull entangled amid a mass of spidery tentacles. Maggots pour out from the empty eye sockets, the jaws are agape and between the cracked teeth is a bleeding human heart. Just looking at it sends a chill down my spine. It's not just how it looks simply as a cast metal artefact; there's something about its very… vibe that's disconcerting.

"This," I hold the medal up to him, not bearing to look at it anymore; "it's got something to do with it, right? What exactly _is_ this?"

He doesn't reply me straightaway, but instead sighs loudly and wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his right hand. "Oread, I don't suppose that you recognise the fact that Necromancers have a strict code of moral conduct –"

"I do now that I've met you."

"Thanks." A faint shadow of a smile. "Well, two of the most blasphemous acts that a Necromancer can commit are treason and the murder of a fellow clan member. Both of the crimes' penalties are death, so an execution has to be followed through and witnessed by an elder. In my case, since the criminal is on the run, the Council's granted us a Death Warrant. _That_ is what you're holding."

"So…" I look at the design on the medal again; it makes me feel sicker, now that I know what it's for. "You're going to find Arawn and kill him."

"I'll try." He sounds pretty hopeless, though. "My teacher and stepfather Tiden, and my stepsister Kaira… we were all assigned this one task because the Council understands how tough it may be. I probably can't do it on my own."

"I'll come with you."

"Sorry?" His eyes are wide. Shit! Did I say that aloud?

"You… You've been with me for this far, now. It's only courteous that I do the same for you." I try to recover from my tactless outburst, but I can feel my face burning up. "I… uh, don't like owing you so much." I look around for something, _something_, that can give me an excuse for a topic-change. "Oh yes, Jamella left that medicine there." I gestured to a mug, its dark contents still steaming a little.

"Who?"

"The healer. She lives here with her husband and daughter." The words tumble out my mouth at a rate that must be giving away my anxiety. I feel so helpless like this… "Go on, drink it."

He looks awkward with the idea. "Um, Oread…"

"What?"

"I don't think I can sit up by myself."

"Oh, dear goodness." I roll my eyes, but I really should be expecting this, anyway. Jamella said he'd be exhausted for a week, at least. I lean closer over the bed, slip my right arm under his shoulders and help him up. He grunts and press his hand over his stomach wound, but my left hand's already there, and his hand touches mine.

It's shivering… a sick feeling seizes me in the chest; probably guilt. On the other side of my hand, his wound feels feverish. He's gasping through his teeth from the pain; I can tell that he's trying to hiss as softly as he can.

"Does it hurt that much?"

"I'll be all right."

"Stop saying that!" I remember now that Jamella had cut away a large chunk of rotted, blackened flesh from around the wound. I didn't watch her through the whole thing. I just couldn't hack it.

Still supporting him around the shoulders, I pull softly on my left hand and he releases it. Taking the mug in my hand, I first offer it to him, but remembering how weak he is, I bring it to his lips.

He looks surprised for a moment, then it turns to gratitude, and I can see the smile in his eyes as he swallows the medicine. The smell is so pungent… _how_ can he drink it all straight down like this?

"There, now just lie back and sleep it out, okay?" I turn to put the mug back on the small bedside table. He's gradually putting more weight on my arm around his shoulders, and my sore muscles aren't coping very well. "I'll go check on Celadon if –"

"Oread."

I jerk my head back to face him. "What is i–" My voice stops short as he takes my chin gently with his sore-looking hand. Yesterday's scene of him slapping me surfaces in my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. His hand is so gentle now… just softly leading my face closer…

And suddenly, I can taste the bitter, slightly sweet potion in my mouth, and smell the strong herbs in the inside of my nose, just above the back of my throat.

…

… I can taste _him_.

He's kissing me.

!!

Next thing I know, I'm outside the tent, gasping for breath, my heart pounding hard, my entire body heating up and quivering out of control. I try to stay on my feet, but my bad knee's on fire; it collapses from beneath me, and I'm left sitting there on the floor, dumbfounded. My body doesn't hurt at all, strangely… My eyes are shifting in and out of focus, though…

As far as I can tell – with my less-than-accurate hearing at the moment – no sound from within the tent.

My feet are warm, the way they get hot from sprinting; I must've gotten out quickly. So… crap, did I just _drop_ him or something?

A surge of panic shoots up my body, and I stumble back into the tent, almost tripping over the rug. Nyhl is in bed, as expected, and looks unconscious again. I've no idea what I did to have him end up like this, but I know it's my fault. Well, at least I haven't caused him too much pain in the process… I hope. I don't seem to have…

I calm down a little, and let that heavy sigh escape me. _He'd kissed me_. That means that he… loves me?

It's such a foreign notion to me, the idea of a person loving another not because they're obliged to, either by blood, by status, or by favours, but purely because they want to… purely voluntary.

I don't deserve this, surely… _why_ would anyone love me without a reason? I'm not beautiful, or gifted, or graceful, or charming… I'm not that good a person, not good enough to deserve something like this. To have this man consider me of such worth –

_Do you love him, too?_

A voice from the depth of my own self. It's a kind, passive voice – not sneering or condescending. It's awakening something warm within me. I haven't felt this way for a long time… I don't remember the last time I have. For all I know, I might've never felt like this before.

_I do_. That's all that really matters, right?

I need to let him know how I'm feeling, we need to talk… "Hey, Necr–"

It occurs to me that I've never called him by his given name. Maybe it was an attempt to dehumanise the situation, to deny the sentimentality of it all…

Maybe it's been this way from the very start.

"… Nyhl?" His name feels unfamiliar on my tongue and to my ears, but it's not an uncomfortable unfamiliarity. It's more like… the eagerness in finally reaching something that I've never experienced, but have wanted for a long time.

He's not waking up. I edge closer and kneel down beside him, shifting most of my weight onto my functioning knee.

His lips are slightly parted… then I realise that for now, talking things out isn't really an option. I need to respond to him in a direct, definite way, and with my mind the way it is, verbal exchange probably won't make any sense to either of us.

It's obvious what's left for me to do, really…

I lean over, and kiss him back. The taste of the potion has faded a little, and behind that, there's just him.

A small jolt as he wakes up, and I feel his hands – one caressing my cheek, the cheek that he'd struck yesterday, and the other one on the back of my head, tenderly pushing me towards him. My own hands find his face by their own accord, and we move just a little closer, until his nose touches my cheek and mine touches his. Then we're just right against one another, almost as if one can melt into the very being of the other one.

For a fleeting moment, we've forgotten the world.


	40. Chapter 31: The Burden of Living

Sorry again about my tardiness. I had a long fieldtrip, as well as major assignments to keep me busy until the end of the semester. At least I'm finding some time to sneak 'fic writing into my schedules.

Back to Cel's PoV, now. I seriously wonder why I have all these self-imposed rules, sometimes…

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns _Diablo_, but I must admit that Hell would be an exceedingly interesting place to visit. I mean, all that MAGMA!! 8D

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**Chapter 31**

**The Burden of Living**

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I was swimming in an endless sea. Swirls of black and silver were drawn across the surface, marbled together with a careless, ethereal hand. Something between water and thick steam filled this abyss…

It was blissful.

I was slipping through infinite space, over eternal time. All was dim, cool, and fluid. I thought then… I was in limbo, somewhere between life and death, an intermediary realm of empty nothing filled with homogeneous aether.

Then came colours, shapes, and they ripped me from the idyllic dark. Sickening, searing, spasmodic pulses. I was hovering away; towards life or death, I could not be sure.

Memories stabbed through the cloudy membrane of unconsciousness with merciless force, throttling my being, forcing my mind to re-establish its physical existence.

_I lived._

The notion consolidated, and I knew I had to fight. Being alive was one thing, waking up was something else entirely. I had done this before, but I had never fought this hard, and it had never been this painful.

The rest of my body started to reconnect with my brain. It hurt like crazy, but at least the aches came from all over my body; everything seems to be there. I was relieved.

The foggy black chasm in which I sought refuge had turned into a world of fire – dry, hot, brightly ablaze. From time to time, I slid back into the cool void, but then the fire grew brighter, the shapes grew more defined, and I was leaving the limbo behind.

There was no sound that I could distinguish, but it felt noisy all the time – things ringing and buzzing and shrieking constantly, so much, so unwavering, that they all blend into the background, a swarm of ugly colours, like coarse grains of sand.

"Is she still not awake yet?" A voice that I was sure that I should recognise, but I could not...

"It'll take time. She's fighting hard; there's a good chance that she'll come round." This one I had never heard before. This voice was smooth, deep and dark. The accent, however… the accent was familiar, and it sent a nice, cool surge that washed over my burning self.

I wanted to say something, to signal something, to _respond_… to let them know that I was here, to tell them to wait for me. Just before I thought I might be able to get there somehow, I was pulled into the dark again.

This time, I floated. I drifted in-between the void and the fire, and when I tried to remember the first voice, I could feel my brain working.

It belonged to a woman. She was one under whom I serve…Her aura was like indigo smoke, but also crimson blood…

Smoke and blood, I can smell a lot of it here…

_Oread_. That was it.

The recall of the name sent a bolt of lightning through my head, and I _remembered_ –

We fought Mephisto. He killed Natalya. Nyhl made her body explode. Oread tried to get Mephisto before he got to me, but she failed. _I _failed.

_I could not die here. _

The lightning soared through my body; I felt my arms and legs jolt and spasm, then my back arched.

I opened my mouth and tried to scream. To my surprise, it came out. I actually heard it. Having succeeded in _that_, I tried my eyes. They would not open. But I was hearing, and smelling, and feeling. Heavy footsteps, the smell of herbs and potions in a background of sulfuric smog, and soft bedding material beneath me. There was only a thin sheet of linen on top of me, but I could feel the light gauze of bandages on various parts of my body. My head felt bloated and swollen and heavy.

Hands planted onto my shoulders, slender but roughened. The palms pressed hard, but the fingers gripped gently.

"Shh… calm down, you're safe, you'll be all right soon." It was the smooth, accented voice. The soothing surge washed over me again, and the tension in my body eased a little, although I could still feel my fingers tingling and twitching.

"Come on, swallow." One of the hands switched from my shoulder to my upper neck, and the other hand disappeared. A moment later, something wet touched my lips and tongue. I realised I was still gasping and screaming. Forcing myself to stop, I swallowed the liquid desperately, savouring the way it trickled down my parched throat and coated it in a trail of soft, cold bitterness.

I followed the trail back into the dark of unconsciousness, though it felt but an instant before I resurfaced into reality again, this time bypassing the fiery transition.

I finally figured that there were bandages around my eyes and head, which was why I could not open my eyes. My thoughts were wavering less now, and I had some control over my breathing. I tried to move my fingers, and they obeyed. This was going well, so far.

I tried to turn my head, but a wave of pain mixed with nausea overtook me. Bile rose up into my throat and I gagged on it.

"Hmm?" A new voice expressed calm intrigue. Someone leaned closer – I could feel the soft breathing on my nose – then the fine swish of fabric, followed by a small thump onto the floor, and rapid, soft footsteps heading away from me.

"Mama, she's awake!" The high-pitched voice of an infant girl, her accent already apparent – the same as that of the strange woman with the soothing voice.

I anticipated the heavy footfalls of the owner of that voice, but instead, it was Oread's voice that reached my ears, full of painfully-blatant anxiety. "Celadon!"

I started to call back to her, but just ended up gurgling tonelessly. I tried to reach her with my arm, but the strength in it was not enough.

My master's fingers brushed over my bangs, sweeping them from my forehead. Her hand was quivering, too. "Are you feeling okay? Thank goodness you're awake… we thought you mightn't wake up…" She spoke quickly, her voice full of emotions, much more than what I was comfortable with… and most of it was fear and panic.

"Oread," a much calmer, quieter voice – Nyhl's. "Settle down a bit; you're scaring her."

My master's hand left my head as she stepped back once, twice. The woman with the cool voice came by – I recognised her footsteps – and poured water slowly into my mouth. I swallowed several times, then she took the water away.

"Can you speak?" She started to unravel the bandages around my eyes. "Tell me your name, age, who you're travelling with, anything."

I swallowed one last time before I forced the air through my voice box. "Celadon…" My voice sounded loud and shrill; I adjusted it a little. "… Of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye, a Rogue of Westmarch. I'm… um…" I tried to remember how much time had passed since my birthday in Lut Gholein, but it just made my head ache dully. "Seventeen… and I serve under my master, Oread."

"Do you remember how you got here? What happened before you passed out?" The voice continued to question, as a hand passed a cold, wet cloth over my eyes.

"Uh… Mephisto." I winced a little as my face registered just how cold the cloth was. "He rammed into me with his head. I… hit my head as I fell back."

"She's got a terrible concussion, but her memory seems to be all together." The voice diagnosed with professional certainty. "Can you move your fingers? Toes?" I obeyed her. Moving my fingers were easy, but my legs cramped as I tried to flex my toes, and it took some time and effort before they budged. "She'll be fine with moving about, just needs to take some time out."

She wiped over my eyes again, this time with what felt like a dry piece of gauze. "Now, can you open your eyes?"

My eyes felt swollen, my lashes stuck together with dried tears. I forced them open, and the first rays of frosty-white light made me eyes ache. I winced and snapped them close again.

"They've still got good response to bright light, at least." From behind my eyelids, the light source was taken out of my field of vision. "Celadon, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three?" I squinted, trying to focus. "… Four?"

The woman sighed. "You should get better soon. If your eyesight's come back even just a little, it's likely to recover, in time. You're still young, and there's a good chance you'll be able to heal more or less completely. Just give your brain some time to heal." She placed a piece of gauze over my eyes and wrapped fresh bandages over them again, then held a cup to my lips. "Drink it, you need to sleep."

"You too, Nyhl." Oread's voice, unexpectedly tender as I swallowed the concoction, feeling my body drift off. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet."

There was something strange about the way she addressed the Necromancer, but I was quickly succumbing to the sedative effects of the potion, and before I could put my finger on it, I was sound asleep.

* * *

I woke up a third time after what I felt was a long, dreamless rest. The bandages had been removed, and I opened my eyes to a blurry, but steady world.

"Oh, Celadon!" Oread leaned over me. Even with this vision, I could recognise her dual-toned eyes. Her voice was controlled, but there was the glee of relief in it that made me smile. "You've been sleeping for so long… it must have been about three weeks, all in all. You were just totally comatose for the first two. Are you feeling ill? Should I go get Jamella?"

I assumed "Jamella" was the smooth-voiced lady healer. "Not too bad." The sound from my throat was rough and gruff. "I just want a drink. Where _is_ this? What h–" My voice failed; I swallowed and tried again, "What happened?"

I heard water being poured into a cup from one side of my head; I did not turn to confirm it. My head still felt heavy, but the pressure from the inside had subsided significantly since my last waking.

"We defeated Mephisto, eventually." My master held the cup against my lips. I lifted one arm and closed a hand around it, but it shook badly under the cup's weight. Oread moved her hand so that it was over mine, and tipped the blessed liquid into my mouth. "A portal appeared as Mephisto sorta… burned out, and now we're here."

"Where?"

She chuckled twice, with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation that gave me the creeps. "We're not in the realm of the humans anymore; this is Hell. We're at the Pandemonium Fortress."

"This is where you said you wanted to go, right?" I pushed the half-empty cup of water away when I had had enough to drink. Oread set it back down onto the bedside table with a soft, wooden _tup_. "You said so; I remember… it was some time after Falcon passed away, wasn't it?"

"I dunno," she replied quickly and offhandedly. "But you're right, I'm here. We've defeated Mephisto, one of the three demon lords. One down, two to go."

"I thought you're only after one." I closed my eyes; it was one less sense for my brain. "Baal… no-one even knows anything about him. I thought you only fought Mephisto to get to Diablo."

Oread sighed, and I felt one side of my bed sink a bit as she sat down on the edge of it. "I wanted to kill Diablo because, well..." A brief pause. "Naiad died here."

… It was so obvious; I wondered why I had not understood it before.

Oread was not out for fame or honour, nor was she so noble as to rid the world of evil for the sake of humanity. She came here, seeking closure, seeking peace of her own mind.

But perhaps behind the glorious purposes that gilded the legends of heroes through the ages, there was always a selfish reason that drove them on, fuelled them to the end.

For these heroes, those little reasons meant the world to them.

* * *

I was spending more and more time being awake, and my vision returned little by little. Two weeks after I first regained full consciousness, Jamella said I could walk about a bit.

Jamella, the mother of the family of three, the only humans who inhabited this forsaken place and call it home. She should be no older than perhaps mid- to late-twenties, but her movements carried with the weariness of one who has seen the horrors of a lifetime.

I did not see her much; she had not spoken to me, save for giving me instructions of what to and what not to do – mostly the latter – if I wanted to recover. Even then, she usually sent her daughter to deliver the message.

Her daughter was sweeter than any child I had met. She had her parents' dark brown skin, her rich ebon hair coiled into tight ringlets that bounced upon her shoulders when she laughed. Aged only two, little Kande already knew how to compose herself. She was generally quiet, and obedient to her parents. Maybe she sensed that her mother was under a lot of stress, having to care for three battle-worn newcomers, one of them being me.

I had heard her play with her father Halbu, a dark-skinned, big-boned man with short, tightly-curled hair that was prematurely grey. But in front of her mother, Kande just watched silently and intently, gazing lovingly and longingly at her with deep sea-green eyes, the same shade as her father's.

I seriously wondered how this family could stay sane in this place. The Pandemonium Fortress itself was bearable, albeit a little dull, with every permanent structure constructed from a smooth, grainless stone of dark grey, and every source of light provided by lamps with frosted glass panes and an unseen, oddly-colourless light source. The design reminded me a little of the Rogue Monastery, but with all the sculptures, statues, and carved relief patterns removed. What little potential familiarity here was diminished by the dryness of the air, which was always still and cool.

What would really drive one crazy, however, was outside of this unchanging, regular fortress that was the epitome of order. Outside of this was chaos – standing at the gates, barricades made of burnt iron and spiky rocks that separated the last of humanity and the forefront of monstrosity, my eyes took in fiery rivers of slowly-creeping magma, fumaroles like giant blisters in the ground spurting thick yellowish-grey smoke, geysers that ejected not steaming water but bubbling blood.

Amongst these were more distinct shapes, like ruins of ancient places of worship that now took on alien forms of broken hands reaching out to the heavens, which the gods had abandoned.

And the sky… the sky was a pool of nightmares, full of storms and shadows and sanguineous souls.

Outside of the Fortress, there was Hell. And nothing else.

* * *

A few days later, Oread came to me. I had been resting in bed, feeling so bored that I thought my head actually ached from the lack of something to occupy myself with.

"How are you today?" She plonked down onto my bed, sounding very cheerful indeed. Her hair was twisted into a crude knot at the back of her head, and wisps of her silky hair were falling out of the makeshift hairstyle.

"I'm… well?" I stuttered, taken aback by her somewhat atypical behaviour. "You… seem very happy lately."

She giggled. This was the second time I had ever heard her giggle, and it was still as incongruously freaky as ever to hear it.

"You and Nyhl… there's something going on, isn't there? You've started calling him by his name, for one." I tilted my head a little, while my eyes narrowed as I prepared to gouge at her first reaction.

She stopped giggling, but the smile stayed on her lips, and some colour bloomed on her cheeks as she looked at her own hands. "Sorry I didn't come to say goodnight last night. I was with him."

"Wha–?!" I jumped, and my voice got caught in my throat. I could feel my eyes widen in horror. "You didn't –"

"It's not what you're thinking!" She retorted quickly, reddening even more and sounding a little guilty… but perhaps that was just me. "We just talked! But, well, Celadon…" She shifted her gaze onto a crease in the blanket. "You might've figured it out already, but I just… I should tell you what I think."

Her fingers fumbled with the crease, folding it flat and running a finger down its length. I waited. Finally, she sighed heavily. "I know this is inappropriate, and it probably sounds stupid, but I'm pretty sure that we… we're..."

I looked straight at her, and when she did not continue or look up for a few seconds, I laid back. "You two are in love. Well, that's obvious."

Oread's head snapped up, and I felt a grin creeping into my features.

"It's not something that can be helped, is it? If you're expecting an opinion on this… well, I don't have any rights, really, considering –"

"Considering you're in love with the Prince of Lut Gholein, is that it?"

Jamella's voice.

I finally remembered what accent she had – it was that of the Lut Gholein nobles.

The lady herself came into view, carrying some newly-laundered sheets. She set them down onto a chair. "That ring on your finger, Celadon of Westmarch, do you know its significance?"

She was coming towards me now, and I took in her features fully with my recently-recovered eyesight. Her hair was combed back into a tight braid that allowed no loose bangs, but her jaw line, the shape of her brows, the strong but refined nose…

"That ring is passed on from husband to wife, and from mother to son in the royal family. The queen passes it onto her first son, or the first male heir to the throne; he, in turn, gives it to the woman whom he would like to have as his companion to the throne – his future queen."

My mind was blank, save for the memory of when Jerhyn had slid the ring gently onto my finger.

"You can return it to me later", he had said. I had not, however, considered that as a gesture of him asking for my hand in marriage.

I would later be overjoyed at this realisation, but for the time being, shock was all there was. I looked up at Jamella, who was right beside me now, looking rather impressed. Out of the corner of my eye, Oread was gaping at me. I felt her hand touch my leg, a gesture of requesting my explanation.

I could look into Jamella's eyes, now… deep blue, as dark as a midnight sky lit only by a crescent moon.

"You're… Jerhyn's sister?" It was a redundant question; the resemblance was unmistakable. "But he said you were –"

"Dead, I know. I'm sorry," she bowed her head towards me. "It was too much for me back there. Every time I looked at my brother, the only things that came to mind were the scenes of slaughter back in the palace." She raised her head a little, and I saw a familiar darkness in her eyes. "I knew that it must be the same for him; he was old enough to remember. Better for him to think that I'm dead, than to have to deal with the multitude of deaths that my presence would conjure into his mind."

I started to say something, but the words faded away before they could be formed. Jamella knelt down beside me, smoothed my hair back gently, and then tucked it behind my ears. "But now, at least, I can delight in the knowledge that he's chosen well. You're young, but you've got amazing resilience and will. I'm counting on you to take care of Jerhyn when this is over, all right?" She ran her hand down my cheek, gave it a pat, and strode out.

We warriors of the Sanctuary were all bound to our duties, with little freedom of how to live our lives; but it appeared now that I was not even free to die.


	41. Chapter 32: This Inhuman Place

Second year is over, ohmigosh!! Well… almost, until I get my results back, anyway. In the meanwhile, I shall alleviate my panic over my results by writing.

Sorry about how late this is; I had the Prime Evils of Assignments, Exams and Writer's Block bombarding me with volleys of combo attacks.

And I have to thank **Emmelyn Cindy Mah** for her second opinion on this, as always! And to all your readers and reviewers out there, I owe you all for my muse's sustenance.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Diablo_. I haven't played it since five years ago. I want the game back, but my discs have stuffed up. Go figure.

**

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Chapter 32

**This Inhuman Place**

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* * *

**

It became easier over the next few days, as the tension started to ease between the residents of the Pandemonium Fortress and us newcomers. Oread and Nyhl were pretty much fully recovered, and while they acquainted themselves with the sceneries of Hell, I tried to make myself useful by offering to help Jamella organise her huge collection of books, scrolls and parchments.

She scowled faintly at the offer, probably because she did not want her possessions rummaged through, though she declined with the reason that I would not do to exert myself just yet.

I bit my lip to suppress the anxiety as I sat down onto a nearby stool. To think that my master was out there, most likely fighting demons in their own territory, was an unnerving thought.

… And a rather aggravating one.

"There's no need to worry about those two, you know." Jamella said with her usual stern tone, but as I looked up there was a smile on her face. "They're adults; if they've managed to stay alive thus far, they'd have enough common sense not to get killed out there just yet."

… _Just yet_. Funny she said that; death was always looming like a heavy storm cloud, and we all knew it – _embrace _it, almost – as a fact of life. "Jamella," I called quietly.

"Yes?" She lifted her eyes from the large tome she was reading.

"This place… pardon my prying, but it's not exactly the most… usual place for a child to grow up in." I shifted my eyes away from her neutral but intense gaze. "How did you _get_ here?"

Without a single pause, she smirked. "There's no need to be so uneasy about it. I understand that being in your tender years, you're sure to have questions about many of these things."

I felt the hot blood rushing to my face, and lowered my head further, my hand seeking my mother's jewel upon my throat. "Yes… sorry."

She snickered a little, her eyes becoming gentler as she marked the page in her tome with a thick, violet ribbon attached to the spine of the book, and closed it with a soft _thump_.

"Halbu and I met after I fled from Lut Gholein. I was a priestess at the temple back then, amongst other things. We met on the western edge of the desert, and we kept travelling west together… towards your homeland, I believe."

"Westmarch." I stated, my voice carrying the sullen tone that I had failed to withhold.

"That's right." She dipped her head in a small nod, as if acknowledging my expression of homesickness. "We stayed a while in Tristram… a few years, got married, and were considering settling down for real and starting a family there, before the corruption of the city came about. While we were escaping that place, Tyrael got us out of there and appointed us to these posts."

"And Kande?"

"She was born three months after we got here." Jamella answered almost instantly; her face lit up as she speaks with pride of her infant daughter. "We worried sometimes that she'll grow up to be… different, being so isolated from the world to begin with. She seems to be faring okay, though, but really," her voice dropped down a notch in both volume and tone. "We just want this to be over with so that our little girl can grow up like any normal child."

We sat there for a long moment, each engrossed in our own thoughts. My own drifted between the Sisterhood and Jerhyn, to what I had left behind.

I was beginning to feel like a bit of a snoop and wondering how to excuse myself when Jamella started, bumping the table and making me yelp. She did not notice it, though, as she bolted out with such swift speed that I would not easily have associated with her stature.

I followed her onto the open courtyard in the centre of the fortress, and there stood my two companions, looking rather more exhausted than beaten, Nyhl leaning onto my master with one arm over her shoulder, and Oread holding him with a hand around the back of his waist, supporting him.

Both their eyes were fixated upon the lady-healer, whose fingertips were glowing a dull gold. She stood with her legs set sturdily apart before a blue town portal that the other two had just opened.

But the different thing about _this_ portal… I could actually see through it to the barren terrain that Oread and Nyhl had returned from, could feel the dreary, dead waves of heat that seeped from the earth, could smell the sour, sharp aroma of sulphur as it stung the back of my nose.

With a quick exhale, Jamella began to trace golden runes in the air with her fingers. These runes surrounded themselves around the portal, coagulating along the glowing rim of the elliptic door that traversed space.

With a grand sweeping motion of Jamella's hands, the portal began to shrink in size, apparently being forced closed by the runes.

Then with an ominous sound somewhere between a hiss and a growl, the portal winked out of existence, its dying burst of white light burning colourful shadows into my vision.

I shook the dull, nagging ache from my head when Jamella sighed, and then started to splutter almost incoherently. "What d'you two think you're _doing_? Where do you think this is? Did you really think you can just _do_ that? Did you _consider_, for a moment, that this isn't a place where you can get away with it?"

Oread and Nyhl only looked at her incredulously, stunned, apparently just as shocked by Jamella's outburst as I was, if not downright terrified by it.

Jamella sighed again, loudly this time with the force of frustration; then she lowered her head and shook it twice, fighting to regain control. "Pardon me," her voice had calmed and quietened, but still bore that hysterical edge, "I guess I forgot to tell you – you can't open these common portals here. The demons have power over this place; they'd be able to come through and infiltrate this last fortress that stands between us and them."

An uncomfortable silence blanketed over us. My master's lips quivered a little as her brows drew tighter, but it was the Necromancer that spoke.

"Sorry." Quietly.

Jamella shook her head again. "Just remember: this isn't a place that belongs to men – it's inhuman. This is _Hell_. Anything that's created here is subjected to tainting by its demonic ambience."

* * *

"So you took out Izual?"

"Uh-huh." Oread replied to Halbu, rubbing her fingers over her knuckles as we sat at the table, long after we had finished dinner and cleared the table. "We didn't know what to do when we first saw him, then he attacked, so we just…" She lifted her tired eyes to Halbu. "What _is_ he?"

"The former lieutenant of the archangel Tyrael." The blacksmith answered simply.

Oread's eyes widened a little, the frantic glint in them betraying her shock. "Tyrael?"

"So we took down an _angel_?" Nyhl's question followed Oread's seamlessly, though _his_ carried a sarcastic sort of snide. He leaned his jaw into his knuckles, his elbow upon the table top, his eyes terribly cold. "The holy forces aren't exactly of… great strength, are they?"

Halbu snorted softly at that. "Heaven's power is beyond our comprehension, death-mage."

"It's just that Hell's appear to be stronger." Nyhl commented dryly, almost cruelly.

At that, Oread jerked her head towards him. She looked a little distressed or disturbed, though her voice was not quite as admonishing as the words that they attempted to carry. "What is your _problem_?"

"It's just… the idea that the gods are doing _anything_ about this is beyond me, that's all." He shrugged, in a frighteningly casual manner.

"That's some pretty twisted shit, Necromancer." Oread accused, one of her delicate brows arching further down. I was suddenly glad that Jamella had brought Kande off to wash up and be ready for bed; such a conversation was not healthy for a little girl like her.

Nyhl met her eyes with his own, his face hard and unreadable. "Never mind, sorry." He said finally, lowering his eyes to the empty table again.

"So, uh…" I began, not wanting the awkwardness to prevail for much longer. "Tyrael _himself _actually comes to this place?" I had never seen the archangel before, though by what I heard from those who had, it seemed to be a tremendously mystical encounter.

Halbu sighed, his breath whistling a bit through his teeth. "Once in a while, yeah." He leaned further back in his chair. "He used to be around more, to guard the fortress himself, but lately, the seals binding Diablo and his strongest minions within the grounds of the Chaos Sanctuary kept slipping. That and both Kurast and Harrogath have come under attack more frequently. He can't battle the Prime Evils by himself, but he's doing all he can to confine the damage."

A faint smile crept into his features – a face that was gentle and understanding, a stark contrast to his wife's strong, defiant façade. "He doesn't have to worry much about Kurast anymore, of course, but unfortunately that's not the worst of it."

He stopped, scanning across at the three of us quickly, and then widened his smile as he lowered his gaze. "Well, you'll see him in person when he comes." He slid his chair back and rose to his feet. "In the meanwhile, you must be worn out after a day's battle. I bid you goodnight, then." He inclined his head in a polite nod, and exited the dining area.

As soon as Halbu was out of earshot, Oread turned to face Nyhl squarely, scraping the legs of her chair against the floor as she demanded, "What the _hell_ was that?!"

"I _said_ 'never mind'." His tone was flat.

"The _last _thing we need now is that sort of pessimistic bullshit, Necromancer." Oread hissed, speaking through gritted teeth. "You're not exactly helping when it comes to getting along with these people with an attitude like _that_, are you?"

"I never realised you were the sort that cared that much for socialising." Nyhl retorted, a touch of anger creeping in.

"Hey!" I intervened just as Oread's eyes flared with rage. "You two… you're not yourself at the moment. You're both exhausted and probably aching all over. Why don't we talk tomorrow after you've rested and mellowed a bit?"

Oread uttered a low, barely audible grunt and chewed on the insides of her cheeks, but she held back. Seeing that they had both opted for silence, I sank back lower into my seat. "And… _I_ want to have a decent talk with you guys. We haven't really talked properly since before we went off to Mephisto, and _that_ wasn't even a _real_ talk then –"

Then I remembered; and, raising my head, I narrowed my eyes slightly at the pair of them. "… Or at least, we haven't had a real talk between the _three_ of us since then."

Nyhl sighed in response to that. "You're right." He blinked slowly. "A lot's happened during this time that demands closure, or something approaching that, anyway." Supporting himself with his hands upon the table, he stood. "I'll see you both tomorrow, then."

Watching him walk off with a light limp, it was my turn to ask the question. "What's gotten _into _him?"

For a moment, Oread just looked at me, her expression three parts dazed, two parts concerned, and one part tender. Then she sighed and leaned her face into her hands. "Celadon," she began, sombrely, "there are things about him that you don't know of… that _I _don't know of. For one thing, though, it turned out that he's related to Natalya."

I felt my eyes widen and something catch in my chest. "What?!" I exclaimed, with too much shock than what would be deemed proper.

"She was his late brother's wife-to-be." She reached out with a hand to brush one side of her bangs from her face. "Doesn't help that he detonated her corpse, huh?"

"Holy –"

"On the other hand, I'm not sure what he's got against Tyrael and the heavenly hosts in general," a few stray locks had fallen back in front of her eyes, and she shook them off gently, "but his reaction to Izual was unexpected, to say the least. Izual… his aura was dark and heavy with demonic energy, but you _could_ tell that he had some divinity in him. He wasn't like the other monsters we came across, by appearance or behaviour. He _felt_ different." Her shoulders tensed a little in a would-be shrug. "Might well have been a good thing, though. While I was hesitating and wondering what to do, he just went for it. Like the fallen angel was like any other hell-spawn."

"That man is disturbed." I commented, feeling like I could be honest with Oread while we were alone together. While the content of our conversation was not the most pleasant, I did relish in the ease between us; that had not been around for a good while.

She chuckled once in response, with minimal amusement. "Who here's _not_ disturbed? We're putting our lives on the line to fight against demons that are trying to end the _world_. We all have our reasons, of course. There can't be _that_ much gallantry in existence."

Her words struck a resonating echo in my mind, further calming my turbulent thoughts. "Do you love him despite that? Despite whatever _else_ he may be?"

"_He_ loves _me_ despite whatever terrible things he sees in me, it's only fair to return the favour." She grinned, more genuinely this time. "Nah, if that's what he is, so be it. Maybe we're both just desperate, but well," her hand swept across the air before her in a swift gesture of snatching, "seize the moment, right? Take what's there and treasure whatever you have, because it may well be the best that you can get." She returned her hand to the table. "If he thinks I'm good enough for him, then _that_'s good enough for _me_."

I gazed at her for a while, taking in her happiness amidst the dread and doom that hangs above everything in this place, and then laughed. "For someone who takes so long to open up to _anyone_, you sure fall hard when it comes to love."

Oread smiled. "Who knows? It may just be a weird mix of lust and despair." She chuckled again. "But if we already live life so carelessly, it makes sense that we should be allowed a bit of carelessness in _this_ aspect of things, right?"

I remembered Jerhyn, and a bittersweet wave swelled into my chest. "You've convinced me." I shrugged and smiled back. "Wish you'd done that sooner." I laughed, but not entirely in jest.

"Time can be short, Celadon." She brushed her bangs back with both hands as she got to her feet. "There are many things I'd like to do, many things I'd like to know, but I guess for people like us, we can only make the best of what we have." She untied her braid, running her hands through sleek locks of champagne, smoothing down the kinks along the natural wave of her otherwise-straight hair. "And I'm not complaining." She grinned once more, again expressing that against-all-odds sort of joy. "It's been a long day; I think I'll hit the hay now."

"Okay." I rocked my chair back as I watched her go, her feet almost dragging along the floor from fatigue. "Goodnight, then. I appreciated that."

"No problem, the feeling's mutual." She waved it off, and I could still hear the smile in her words. "'Night."

* * *

We never did get around to talking between the three of us, though.

We all felt that sudden spike in light energy even in our sleep; I supposed it was not all that difficult, though, given how _thick_ the dark aura was in this place.

I almost tumbled out of my bed, my hair in disarray, reddish-brown bangs falling into my field of vision, looking almost crimson under the hellish light of the infernal skies, dimmed by the canvas roof of our makeshift room.

"What the hell was that?" Oread sat up and asked groggily with half-closed eyes, her nightdress sliding, revealing one bare shoulder.

"Something's here." I said rather stupidly, my voice was hoarse from sleep. I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles to clear the blurriness. "Shall we go?"

We followed our senses to where we first stood upon this fortress, back at the end of the corridor, and saw only blinding white light filling the place that would otherwise be a dark, dank grey. Then the light subsided, the glow shrunk down into a small mass.

Before my eyes could see properly again, I felt a hard tackle around my waist and almost lost my balance.

I looked down and there was a head of silky dark brown hair, lined with strands of gold. "Leaf!" I dropped to my knees and buried her in a hug, feeling the heaves of her chest from soundless laughter.

"Master Cain." Nyhl's voice this time, monotonous and low. I looked up at the Necromancer; his arms were crossed, his hair was untied but his spectacles were in place, and the cold eyes behind them glared first at the old mage, then past him at the glowing heap on the floor.

The glow slowly subsided, and took the form of a small human figure. When the corridor returned to its original dimness, I looked upon the tiny mass on the floor, and jolted involuntarily when it stirred.

The bulk appeared to be a young child dressed in seamless robes of untainted white, with a simple style but elaborate, fine embroidery of gold and silver tracing foreign runes over the floaty fabric.

The child's head lifted – the delicately-featured but handsome face of a boy no older than eight years – and shook his short, straight hair from his eyes. Hair of a uniform, solidly opaque shade of near-white blonde, that looked to be almost shining against his golden-tanned skin.

His eyes snapped open… large, round eyes typical of a child considered by most to be cute and adorable. Although he was not looking at me, I could sense his concentration enveloping all of us. He turned his face up, and the eyes that I saw were inhuman – irises of a liquidly silver, slightly smoky in shade, and no visible pupils.

Jamella ran past me towards the boy, her hand soft upon his shoulder as she helped him to his feet. "Tyrael, what happened this time?"

… _Tyrael_?

"I went back to terminate the trans-dimensional connection between here and Kurast," his voice was not unlike those of other regular eight-year-old boys, though the formal tone of his words, the severe glint in his eyes… they nevertheless made it sound incongruous. "And brought these two along the way, but the seals at the Chaos Sanctuary threatened to failed again, and I had to leave them somewhere in-between, reconsolidate the seals, and come back to bring them here before they got engulfed by the void."

He dusted off his robes, the action surprisingly realistic and… material. "The Evils' powers are growing; Hell's forces are gathering strength and momentum, no questioning that." He remarked, with a strangely human scowl.

"So," Nyhl spoke up, his tone contemplative but stern, and the boy jerked his head up to look him straight back in the eyes. Nyhl seemed undaunted by this, as he flicked some loose strands of hair over his shoulder. "You're the archangel who guards the realm of us mortal humans against _this_."

Jamella threw a sharp glance at him. "You don't have the right to sp–"

"It's fine, Jamella." The boy… _Tyrael_, cut her off just as Oread gripped hard onto Nyhl's shoulder. Nyhl looked at my master nonchalantly, and my master just shook her head.

Tyrael sighed; every bit of how he looked, how he acted, how he moved, how he spoke… there was almost nothing ethereal about them. "I think I should thank you all, to begin with. For slaying Mephisto, for responding to the call to come here… for being out here in the _first_ place." He shifted his metallic-coloured eyes to Oread, and grinned. "Even if you think there wasn't a choice in the first place. I'm sorry, and I really do appreciate your help."

Oread jumped a little, and I started to wonder about that just as Tyrael made _me_ jump as well, "In response to your query, Celadon, I'm taking this human form because it's easier to contain my spiritual power this way, with a physical body."

… Did he just _read my mind_? "Sorry for prying." He nodded apologetically, and I flinched again. He blinked in childlike amusement before looking away. "But well… the kinds of damage that we ethereal beings sustain are taken at the spiritual level, not unlike what you call 'mana' in mortal beings; and when our spiritual power becomes drained or rampant, it can't support an immaterial body constructed entirely out of spiritual energy." His glance shifted smoothly towards Nyhl. "And yes, I _do_ realise how pathetic this looks." He shrugged.

"So _you_ called us here." I finally managed to articulate my speech.

"I know of the hardships that you've endured along the way –"

"You have no idea." Nyhl snarled, his tone dark and resentful.

"– With your most recent trial being that of putting my late lieutenant at peace." His eyes stared straight at Nyhl now, with an open solemnity that almost surpassed the Necromancer's coldness in intensity. "I can't express the heavens' gratitude for that, but I _do _regret the things that have happened to you, Nyhl, that makes you believe there were no counterforces against evil except for what humanity can offer."

"What can we do, then?" Oread's voice, slight shaky, betraying the onset of panic or anxiety. "What do you expect us to do if not even _you_ can put a stop to this?" Her volume stepped quickly up with her words. Leaf held me more tightly as my master escalated her voice almost into a wail. "Naiad… she came here and _died_ here, like many before her. You can't just keep sending people to their deaths this way!"

It was Nyhl's turn to pat her on the shoulder, and she clung to him as he did so. Tyrael bowed his head and closed his eyes. "It seems that way, doesn't it?" He spoke slowly, the dark grief prevailing throughout his speech. "There _is_ the crucial difference between humanity and divinity, however – you humans have free will. You have the power to decide, to rebel, to _choose_."

His eyes fluttered open again, though he kept his gaze low – considering, pondering, _hoping_. "And that, I think, will make all the difference in the end."


	42. Chapter 32 and a half: Unrepentant

Not much to say this time. Did well at uni, is loving Geology, all that jazz.

Have a happy new year, everyone. Many thanks to Emmy, who review so diligently. Send me some love, people!! I NEEEED IIIIIT.

Oh, and it's another half chapter; for those that still haven't figured it out, this means it's gonna be from a PoV of someone other than Celadon, which is the main narrator. Just thought I'd say that, because it's apparently more obscure than I thought.

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns _Diablo_. I don't seem to own even my brain.

* * *

**Chapter 32.5**

**Unrepentant**

* * *

_Humans have the freedom of choice_, he said.

Freewill – sometimes I wonder if that really exists, or if it's just another aspect of divine make-believe. Do we really choose how we think and act, or are our minds the product of worldly conditioning over the years?

I stopped believing in divine intervention some time ago. It's just easier to understand how things come to be that way. The world as the result of human-demon interaction is something that I can accept. It fits.

A skeletal demon closes in on me from my right, dressed incongruously in a suit of grandiose armour. I squint as I pivot and spin around to face it, trying to gauge the distance between us. The monster hurls a ball of blue light towards me, the crackling ball of energy advancing with unexpected speed; I barely avoid it, my cheek and the side of my neck stinging sharply as it flies past.

I slide my dagger back into its sheath at my side and feel for the lethargic presence of dead body parts, gathering mana in my free left hand and exposing it to their ghostly responses.

The mana coursing through my hand's conduits resonates shrilly. This place is _screaming_ with existences that had passed on. "City of the Damned", it's named; appropriately so.

At my command, the bone fragments within the ground directly beneath the armoured skeleton coalesce and shoot out of the earth, imprisoning the foe in giant claws of bone. The corner of my eye catches the glinting sphere of power in another fellow monster's hand, but the missile is halted as a similar cage materialises and holds the demon at bay.

I sweep my eyes across the battlefield – Oread's at a distance, combating a hoard of demons herself. She's out of range; this shouldn't affect her, but… it's the first time I've ever used this in battle. Better be careful.

I close my eyes. Turning my energy inward, I focus my aura – the thin layer of mana immediately outside of my body – and begin to break down the air around me. I can feel the very constituents of the atmosphere split and recombine. Harmless elements turn noxious; light, drifting particles become heavy and stagnant. Alchemy at its worst, the epitome of my people's practice of it.

My eyes snap open and I allow my aura to expand. Large globules of mana aglow with the corrosive colour of acid-green explode from me in a nova of poison, trailing thin tails of light behind them as they progress upon their onslaught, infecting its targets with deadly venom.

The sweet sounds of convulsive gagging and gurgling fill my ears as the monsters drown in their own contaminated fluids. They stop soon enough.

I glance over to my partner and can hear it as her arrows first snap-freezes a group of horned, beast-like monster, then cracking the frozen figures with the subsequent shots, before finally shattering the entire lot. I consider for a moment what colour the melt would be, but then I remember the bones of those that I've disturbed from their rest.

My left hand is still shivering, longing for more action, the mana there crying to be purged upon another monster, but my other hand is steady.

I close my eyes and raise it to my forehead, touching it with the knuckle of my index finger. "I lament the suffering you have endured in life." my brain recalls the old prayer, my lips forming the words in my mother tongue of Carrhandi.

My hand drops down and presses a fist to my chest. "I esteem the service you are offering in passing."

"I await the serenity you will receive in death." The hand rises again, this time to my lips, and I kiss it softly. For most people, this would be the hand that had taken from the dead in the first place; perhaps that's why I don't seem to appreciate the depth of this gesture.

When I open my eyes again, I'm greeted with Oread's scrutinising stare. It makes me start and retreat half a pace.

"D'you do that every time you've used a corpse?" She asks, crooking one pale brow.

"Yes, it's expected moral conduct." I reply, and then remembered something and my chest tightens just a little, an annoying sort of nag that I quickly shove aside, but Oread must have seen something, however obscure it was.

"You've done that to _every_ _single time _you've used a body." It isn't a question; it's a cue for me to spill. I look into her eyes, and something tough and cold melts inside me. "_Every_ –"

"There was once." The words tumble out, much quicker than I'd anticipated. My throat feels dry; my voice seems to be on the edge of faltering. Stealing a glance at her, I add, "That was the only time I really didn't care."

Oread's eyes narrow, hiding the lighter green of her irises, making her eyes darken in effect with the deeper brown. She knows… that it wasn't a careless mistake.

"Who was it?"

I swallow audibly; I'm not afraid of being reminded of it, just of how she may react…

"My father."

Just like that, the memories, the pictures, the sounds, the smells flood back, like they do every once in a while during the quieter nights; except dreams are but short-term reminders. This time, the memories come to the forefront of my mind from the core of my brain, where I disposed of it long ago, caged it, strapped it down, locked it up…

Oread just freed it. The look in her eyes continues to coax it out of me, tugging at the thoughts that are swelling into the forefront of my mind.

And I look back and see the woman I love; the woman for whom I can never become my father for.

So I tell her. In perfect chronological order. From my first memory of Father…

The unworthy monster of a man.

* * *

Formerly one of the top tacticians of my people, he apparently suffered a mental breakdown after the Amazonian-Necromantic War of his generation; but as far as I can remember, he was always a ruthless oppressor.

Naturally, then, my first impression of Mother was that she's oppressed. She's a person who could not defend herself; love had stripped her of power and sight. She failed to see that my father was not that man that she fell in love with, that the man my father apparently had been was long dead.

Sometimes I wondered if _she_ had suffered a breakdown, too.

She was one who needed someone else's protection. At first I tried to be that someone, but I was weak, and she ended up protecting _me_, and Father's wrath for me exploded upon her, as well.

So I soon learnt to stay out of the way; but I watched. I watched him as he cursed her; put her through mental torment far more agonising than the bruises that he rendered violet-crimson on her frail body, the gore that he freed from beneath her alabaster skin into a stream of thick red, the screams and cries that erupted from her tattered throat.

I watched as he attacked from the other side of the room, Mother defenceless. She'd try to get up and go towards him, beg him to stop, but she never reached him. She never touched him.

Just as I never hid from the truth and fact of reality. I watched to learn, to understand, to predict and prepare, hoping that knowledge would eventually grant me the power to keep Mother safe.

I swore never to become who Father was. He's a renowned master in summoning and, witnessing the attacks that he used on mother, I refused to practice summoning and curses – though I learned them nevertheless – and opposed the usual style of felling the opponent from afar that's common amongst my clan. I gave up the customary staff and other occult devices, and took up studying the use of blades.

There's once when emotions overpowered tact and I tried to intercept Father before he got to Mother for the nightly abuse. It earned me three weeks away from home with the physicians.

I was about twelve then, and I usually helped Mother at home after my lessons with Tiden; so one thing that resulted from the incident was Brother's return from the citadel. He'd said that he always wanted to come back, but he's in a high position, and couldn't leave so easily.

Mother's out when I arrived home from the infirmary, and I talked for hours with Brother. That's the first time I'd cried about what was happening. Brother just listened, and he nodded in understanding.

"He's been coming home late; it's like he doesn't want to meet me." Brother explained. "Mother, on the other hand, seems to have become happier. I've got my ideas about this, and you've just confirmed them."

He took my spectacles off with one hand, and wiped the tears off my face with the other. The calloused fingers were hard and rough upon my eyelids. He was older than me by eight years, and his seniority had always assured me that… somehow, he could set things right for me. It's a weak thought, but it's comforting nevertheless.

I gazed into his eyes – blue and grey, much like mine, but years of witnessing conflict and the ugliness of humanity had worn and dulled the brightness of the blue.

"Tell you what, I was meant to be leaving today, but I'll stay for a while. If it gets bad, I'll talk to him. I might even see what I can do with the elders." He smiled. "Don't cry, all right, Nyhl? It makes him think he's won."

I was annoyed by this, and I told him that I'd never cried in front of Father. He scuffed my hair, and grinned as I tried to shove his large, strong hand off my head.

But I could see the angry determination in Brother's eyes.

When Father came home that night, Mother was cleaning up after dinner.

"You're still here, Rien." Father's voice was cold. "I thought you were to have left by noon today."

"Isn't it all right for me to catch up a little with my baby brother?" He glanced at me, seeking the pout that I'd normally return him if he'd called me that; but I comprehended no humour in the situation. "Or do you want to just get rid of me so you can go back to abusing my family? Who have you been beating up to compensate for your cravings these few weeks? Or rather…"

He got up closer to Father, and I tensed up. He leaned into Father's face – Brother's taller than Father by about an inch – and inhaled. "You've been quenching your belligerence with spirits. That's smart; this time you can blame it on the drinks."

"You have no right to talk to your _father_ like this, Rien!" Father slammed a hand onto the table, and I could smell the wood, scorched by violent magical energy. "You're my son, this is my wife," he pointed a finger at Mother, and she reacted as if it's a physical jab. "And this is _my_ family! I'm the head of the house!"

"You're not worth this family." Brother's as short-tempered as Father. They were almost nose-to-nose, now, their light, straw-coloured hair and identical eyes giving the scene the odd appearance of a mirror-image. I really should have known that it's not possible for him to talk to him peacefully…

"You either stop this, or I'll report it to the elders."

"Stop this! Rien, please don't…" Mother urged, but her voice was lost in Father's bellow.

"You would dare to betray your own father?" Father's energy's filling up the room with its aggression. I was alert but not scared – at least not for myself.

"You betrayed _us_ first. You betrayed your own role as a husband _and_ a father."

"Rien!" Mother's cry coincided with a Bone Spear splintering after stabbing into the wall behind brother.

Brother's aura exploded. The fight began.

Tears were streaming down Mother's face, and she looked to be paralysed with fear. Suddenly she straightened up and buried me in her arms. I tried to free myself; that's when I felt the precedence of a chilling shockwave from Father.

I broke free, stood in front of Mother and tried to absorb as much as the curse as I could, tried to set aside my instinctive resistance.

From what I could feel, the curse that father cast was Weaken. I wasn't yet fully recovered from what happened three weeks before; and with even the most basic, reflexive defence down, the curse seeped through to the core of my innards, throttling my entire body with its force.

Regardless, I wasn't going to let this happen again. I cast Bone Armour – with noticeably a lot more effort, but I only thought it as the temporary effects of the curse – around the two of us. It'd do nothing against magic, but it's the best I could do then.

The sound of splitting flesh, breaking bones and breathing indicative of torn organs filled my home, but only Mother's sobs really resonated in my head. I watched; I tried to take everything in, tried to see if I could brace myself for what might happen next.

I watched as Brother left an opening for Father to deliver the killing blow. I kept watching as Brother sent Teeth towards Father before he lied still. His aim's off, but there were nine missiles, and four struck their target.

Mother's trembling and moaning softly but shrilly as father hit the floor. She's holding herself in a tight huddle, with me standing in front of her.

I searched for motion with my eyes, tuned my perceptions to the hums of Brother and Father's energies from memory. There's a tiny quivering, but it'd be gone shortly.

I relaxed and my insides seized up; I doubled over, choking on the blood that gushed into my mouth. Covering my mouth with my hand, I tried to keep it in, to swallow it, but there was so much of it that I ended up coughing it onto the floor.

Mother wailed and threw her arms around me; she was shaking all over and her hands felt icy. "Oh… dear gods, Nyhl. Dear _gods_…" She sobbed on, the rest of her sentence no more than a senseless spluttering of guttural sounds.

I took a few deep breaths after the blood stopped coming, and steadied myself. "Mother, please come with me to alert the elders." My voice was calm; I was surprised that I felt nothing. I was numb; perhaps it was my mind's instinctive response for self-preservation, rejecting the emotions to save my body and my sanity. My body felt cool, but not uncomfortably so – like a breeze in a summer's night, I remember thinking.

I helped Mother out of the house before I went back to close the door and windows that led into the marshes beyond our yard – it'd be messy if animals were to find their way to the slaughter scene.

Before I left I knelt down beside Brother, and was glad that his eyes were closed. He almost looked like he was only asleep, if not for the pool of blood beneath his body that had stopped spreading a few minutes ago and started to clot.

I tried not to look at Father, but as I walked past him, his hand closed around the hem of my loose, oversized trousers. I realised that my feet were bare, and made a mental note to get boots from the front later.

I still didn't look at him.

"Nyhl…" Father's voice. It stirred a little something warm inside me, but it's drowned out by the overwhelming coolness. I kicked my leg forward and freed it from his grasp.

I strode out of the room, and turned back as I pulled the door close. Father's head's lifted and tilted towards me; under the silver lighting of the half-moon, his eyes were darkened by the dying flames of the lamps that illuminated the crimson on the walls.

I squinted my left eye closed, and lifted my head so that the largest speck of blood on my spectacles' right lens covered his head and most of his torso.

Now he's one with the bloody room.

"Ny–" His voice was cut off as the door clicked shut.

* * *

There was nothing to it. Mother told them what happened as it happened, I told them what happened in a way that complemented what Mother said had happened; and that's all there was.

When I talked with Tiden about the incident, that was when we realised what Father's curse had done to my body. Not only did I lose a large part of my ability to withhold magical energy, my stamina had plummeted. My general resistance to metaphysical attacks had greatly weakened. It's almost like the curse had stayed inside me.

Such was the price of protecting Mother from more hurt and torment. It was worth it.

There're tears during the funeral, but not mine. I was more angered than saddened that Brother and Father would rest beside one another.

When everyone else left, I asked Mother go ahead, to return to Grandmother's home for some rest.

The dying sun washed the pristine marble of the mausoleum with arterial red that looked livid, like blood seeping and running down bleeding walls, puddling on the floor. The two caskets were side-by-side before me. No doubt the bodies inside would also be of identical posture.

Wrath burned. Father didn't deserve this. This ritual would mean that for a long time to come, Brother would be known as the other man's son as he lay cold in the ground.

The muscles in my chest and left arm tightened. Had I known then that Nadya was watching me… nah, I probably would've done it anyway.

My mana circulation was upset, and Tiden had warned me of the drastic effects on my organs if I stressed it too much; but this… I was sure that I could control it well enough; I went up, and put my hand on the side of Father's casket.

A sharp throb from my organs came first, but I dismissed my body's warning shriek and pushed on. What followed were from the casket – a series of dull, liquid rumbles, then a splashy sound of a fine equilibrium somewhere between _pop_ and _bang_, resonating inside the wooden box, ricocheting off the inside walls for a brief moment before silence took over again.

Enchanted music to my ears. The casket didn't move at all.

Left hand found its way into my empty pocket; right hand rose reflexively, lips parted to speak for the soul of the dead as they had before, and will do so for many more times to come; but this time I stopped them. My hand never touched my forehead; my voice never escaped my throat.

Over the continuous _drip drip drip_ through the thick wood came a wet _shlop_ as some larger chunk of tissue slid off the inside wall of the casket.

My hand fell by my side. I walked off.


	43. Chapter 33: The Crumbling

I've been procrastinating a lot, and yes, it HAS been a long while since I last updated. For any readers who got frustrated because of this, my apologies.

So, I'm now in my last year of my Bachelor degree, even though I plan to stay for another year of Honours and possibly… more. That, and Church has been pretty nuts with bombarding me with positions and duties. Along with trying to fit judo training a few times a week into my schedules. In any case, please bear with me.

A big thank you goes out to the people who added me to their alerts, favourites, and especially reviewed during this hiatus, some new ones: **Luna Atra**, **Ddangerdan**, **IHeartFaith**, **Metastasis **and** Razbash**. Of course, there's the perpetually diligent and loyal **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**, whom I just want to hug the living daylights out of for being such a great mate.

Hope you'll like this chapter! It's almost all original, so if you don't like it, it's my fault entirely.

**Disclaimer: **The _Diablo_ series of games is owned by Blizzard, including the up-and-coming _Diablo III_! 8D

* * *

**Chapter 33**

**The Crumbling**

* * *

Tyrael stayed for a mere two days before he went off again. Jamella insisted that he remained within the refuge of the Fortress for a little longer, but as Tyrael put it, duty called. The restraints that had been placed upon Baal, the Lord of Destruction himself, were failing as the demon lord regained his power, slowly but surely.

"I don't know when I'll be back," the young boy before my eyes spoke in a spookily solemn tone as his mercury orbs swept past us. "I'd like to be able to take care of Mephisto's Soulstone personally, but even for ethereal beings, there is the limitation of having only a single existence at any one moment."

"Soulstone?" I inquired.

Oread bowed her head in contemplation for a brief moment. "Are you talking about that long bluish piece of rock that got caught on my spear when Mephisto was killed?"

Tyrael nodded, his fine white-blond hair shimmering as it caught the dim light. "I trust that it is still in your possession?"

"Yeah," Oread looked away, wrinkling her nose and brows in an expression of disgust. "It's tucked away somewhere. I didn't want to touch it or look at it anymore than I had to."

Tyrael dropped his gaze. "It holds great power," his voice was solemn and resentful. "It's the dark essence of Mephisto's being. The only way to ensure that Mephisto is well and truly obliterated is to have the Soulstone destroyed at the Hellforge, where such artefacts were imbued with demonic energy in the first place. It's guarded by Diablo's underling, the armourer Hephasto." He glanced across all of us, then looks straight ahead towards nowhere again. "You'll need to be careful."

I turned and saw the Amazon and the Necromancer looking at one another with the comfort of mutual understanding in their eyes, and suddenly felt something sink in my chest. "I'll –"

"I'm accompanying the two of you." Jamella spoke up with her smooth, dark voice, drowning my voice out. She was not looking at me.

A grunt sounded in my throat. "But Jamella, I'm –"

"I know my way out there; I can lead us to the River of Flame." She was still looking at Oread and Nyhl. "You've gone as far as the City of the Damned, haven't you? If we're efficient and all goes well, we may be able to return within a day's time, thereabouts." She quickly turned to me, looking at me squarely, looking _down_ at me, and _ordered_, "The Fortress cannot be left unguarded. You'll stay here with Halbu and make sure it stays safe." She shifted her gaze to her husband, and her eyes as well as her tone of voice immediately softened. "I didn't mean you're incompetent, dear… it's just not enough."

Halbu smiled and nodded mildly. "I understand. We weren't enough to begin with." He looked tenderly at Kande asleep in his arms, her head resting in curve between his shoulder and neck, and rocked her gently.

Tyrael's unfazed expression suggests that he took no heed of the couple's exchange. "I wish you all the best, for the sake of yourselves and of the Sanctuary." His body suddenly burst – _unravelled_ – into a white, blazing form, and I caught the glimpse of the glorious archangel but for a split second, before he – and the light – disappeared without a trace.

I confronted my master later that night; that intense feeling of being left out was wearing on me. It was one thing to be in love with a fellow companion, but… leaving another behind was something else.

"I'd have preferred you to come along in Jamella's place, but you heard her." She said matter-of-factly, not alleviating the nagging feeling in my chest. "I'm a lot more comfortable with you when I'm out on the battlefield, but Jamella's right. She knows her way, and she knows what we're in for." She reached up with one hand and pushed her hair roughly from her face. "Or I _hope_ she does."

"We could've _both_ come." I objected. "I haven't been in action at all since I got here, you realise?" My head canted and my eyes narrowed – the stance of an interrogator. Unmannerly, yes, but I was unimpressed… no, I was _angry_.

Oread blinked slowly, mildly, "It's precisely that, Celadon." Then her eyes flicked up instantaneously, her gaze almost severe. "You haven't seen just how fragile this place is… this little island oasis, the last trace of there being _some_ control so that everything doesn't just blow over."

"Do you not trust me out there?"

"No, I trust you _here_. I trust that you'll keep this place safe from the forces that are constantly trying to engulf it." She paused for half a second, and then added, "You may think that you won't ever see this place collapse; but at any moment, it just _might_."

"But I –"

"It's not a request; it's an _order_." She spoke up; the volume of her voice was maintained, though her tone had hardened. "Will I not have your compliance, Celadon of the Rogues?"

The words struck my mind with ice and metal, forcing the solid truth to the surface – I was her mercenary; and at the end of the day, that was all that I was really good for.

My face fell from its former display of gaping-shock as I slumped and bowed, my head held low enough to hide my expression from her view. "You have it, master."

She sighed, and I felt her hand upon my lowered head. "I'm sorry I did that, but please… just put up with this one more time, okay?" I could hear the _gulp_ as she swallowed. "I won't neglect my comrade."

"Not unless you have to, right?" I muttered, the dark defiance creeping into my voice despite my best attempts to fight against it.

"You know how life works these days." She lifted her hand and waited for several seconds, but I held my bent posture and she soon gave up. "But that will _not _happen if I can help it."

* * *

I saw them off as the three left for the Hellforge in the following morning – not that morning was much different from night, though. The way to tell the two apart was to see what colour the rivers of lava glowed; it glowed a dim crimson at "night", a rich orange in the "morning", and at "noon", it often gurgled loudly and coughed out bright spittle of acidic yellow.

"Guard this fortress safe before our return, Celadon." Jamella held both of my hands in her large ones, heavy and hard from work and wear, and almost seemed to pierce me with her gaze as she said the words.

"I'll do my best," was all I could promise.

Halbu came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder afterwards, as I kept staring after them even though they were long out of sight. "Don't make such a face." His hand gave my shoulder a soft squeeze, and I could faintly hear the smile in his voice. "You've had that look on you a lot lately."

"_Which_ look?" I turned around to two pairs of eyes with identical shades of sea-green; Kande's were wide and bright, filled with the innocent, pure curiosity and appreciation of everything that people gradually grew to take for granted. Her small chubby hand fisted as she clung tightly onto the front of Halbu's shirt. I felt my face relax; I did not realise just how tense and drawn it was before.

"The look that says someone's died." He laughed dryly, with little humour. "It's not good for a young lady to have such a sour face; it ages quicker."

I chuckled in reply, the sound equally forced as his laugh was. "Speaking of which – if you'd pardon my bringing up such a grim topic," I gave Kande a small pat on the head, my fingers entangled in her mass of dark ringlets. "My master mentioned that her sister passed away here; surely many have done so before her, and many after her."

The dimmer pair of green eyes closed momentarily. "She's brought that up, yes." He then paused and waited for me to go on.

"What do you do with the bodies?" The words shot out, all too bluntly. "I mean… I don't see a cemetery here, though _surely _you don't just –" I considered the possibility of me getting this wrong, and decided that it would at least be forgivable of me to do so. "– _leave_ them out there."

"Oh, no!" Halbu's brows gathered in obvious distaste at the thought. He shook his head, "No, we don't do that. They deserve better." He knelt down on one knee, set Kande down on her feet, and kissed her on the forehead. "Mama's got some breakfast on the dining table. You start first, and I'll come with everyone soon, okay, sweetie?"

The girl nodded twice, vigourously, her tightly-coiled hair bouncing on her shoulders. "Okay, Papa." She stood on her toes and tried to mimic her father's actions, but could not reach his forehead and so instead substituted the subject of a kiss to his cheek, before half-skipping, half-dashing off.

He stayed on his knee and watched her go, then straightened as he exhaled, his face turned away from me. "I'll show you. Come."

He led me to a small black tent, tucked away into a corner behind the more elaborate tents that had been their makeshift home for the past two years. He lifted the heavy entrance flap of the tent, and it took me half a second before I realised what the small, identical, repetitive shapes inside it were –

Rows of neatly-aligned off-white urns adorned the dark wooden shelves dusted with powder of various pale grey shades, each weighing down a small square of parchment, with letters and numbers printed neatly upon them.

Ashes.

"We wouldn't bury the bodies upon such tainted grounds," Halbu stated mildly. "We cremate them and try to send the remains back to their homes, but it's not always possible – some die too soon, without leaving much information behind, and there are others that were apparently just… insignificant; they had no-one to be sent back _to_."

I had nothing to say to that; the mere sight of what was left of so many who were once alive, now reduced to something so small, so transient, so _dead_… dust that can simply be blown away…

"Let's leave them in peace," the flap to the tent fell back into place, a bleak curtain that hid a stage for the final scene of a tragic play. "Such a sight is unhealthy for the living soul; it eats away at the spirit."

Perhaps even this Fortress is slowly succumbing to the choking clutches of Hell.

* * *

Giggling – an incongruous sound to my ears, and a bizarre one in this place.

Still, it brought a smile to my face; I finished polishing the short sword that once belongs to my master's late sister, slid it snugly back into its dark wooden sheathe bound by tough rawhide straps, and turned to the source of the laughter.

In the small open courtyard, right under the bloody sky, Leaf was holding Kande in her arms as she danced about, lifted her as high as her arms could manage as the infant squealed with laughter. Her long dark hair flowed like a fine sheet of silk as she swivelled on her heels, the golden strands catching the light, seeming almost to glow.

She turned towards me, and I saw the joyous look on both girls' features, and a funny, though not unpleasant feeling crept into my chest – here were two children, indifferent to the danger and darkness that envelops them, and enjoying this moment just for what it was worth.

Leaf… she looked so radiant now, despite her lineage, her birth, her handicap, her past… despite what may lie before her, as a half-demon child doomed to a life of ever-incomplete humanity, she seemed so grateful for what she _did_ have.

"Quite a child, isn't she?" A husky, somewhat strained voice rose up from behind me. "_Tirral_ of Zann Esu."

I turned and gave Master Cain a small nod, "She is indeed." I was surprised that the sage addressed her as such – noting not her corrupted blood, but the human, righteous part of her identity.

He settled down in the chair beside me. "And the daughter of the Guardians of Light… Kande, she's lively." He smiled, the wrinkles on his cheeks shifting as he did. "It's good that she's still young, and that she's nevertheless created as a being of the human realm. With any luck, she won't remember the worst of this place after all this is over, when she's grown up."

He stopped; not willing to encourage any further speeches from the old sage, I lapsed into silence. My mind first considered the young family of three, and then moved, of its own accord and rather inappropriately, to the rows and shelves of ashes.

Then, looking at the two young girls, the scenes in my head dissolved into one of my own childhood... some time before Oread came into my life, before I followed her and left the little girl that I was behind.

My fourth and youngest elder sister, the one known as "Flavie" by the Sisterhood, was with me, standing before a pyre. My third sister lay upon it, her flesh gradually being blackened by the flames. A sweet, pungent aroma rose into the air.

"It's just us two now, Cel." My living sister said solemnly, an edge of dark anger in her tone.

"No," I shook my head, determined to believe. _Wanting_ to believe. "Mother's still at the Monastery fighting monsters."

"She hasn't come back since after the funeral… the _other_ one." She was referring to my eldest sister, whose mangled body was sent back to be cremated several months earlier. "She may still be alive, but I don't think she'll be coming back, even if she isn't dead y–

It was at that point in my thoughts that the last defence crumbled in reality.

I was thrown onto the ground by an unseen force, a sharp chill. It washed over me and my mind blanked out totally for a split second. When my senses returned, I _finally_ appreciated just how quickly the store of ashes would have accumulated.

This place _was_ death.

The thick air, full of sulfur and smoke and steam, singed and seemed to coat my eyes and airways in powdered glass. The heat made my skin sting and burn. There was an ongoing, inaudible hum that resonated within my bones, the sound so low that one could only feel it and not hear it. Then there were the sporadic sounds of hollow shrieks and not-so-hollow explosions.

I straightened, strapped the sword onto my belt and reached for my bow and quiver by the wall of the tent. Cain was blubbering somewhere behind me, Kande was screaming, and Leaf had her hands wrapped around the infant, her own eyes wide, the maroon irises reflecting the crimson sky, which now looked like a whirlpool of gore.

I ran up to the girls and stood between them and the exit of the Fortress to the rest of Hell, gasping in shock and then choking at the clarity of the barren landscape as the sky cast its violent light upon it – it was an immense sea of blood, its islands the shapes and colours of splintered bones and rotting flesh and festering organs.

And from this land of dread and horror, things were stirring.

"What's happening?" I tried to shout beyond the jumble of noises. My view brightened as I tuned my mind's sight to the mana contained within all things living, and then blurred as sickly grey tones washed over the entire scene. I was knocked off my feet once again as something immaterial pounced onto me, and my windpipe was obstructed by what felt like hot embers.

I saw Halbu's shadow looming over me; the pressure left me, and a strong arm looped around my waist and practically heaved me up. "Stay close to me." He leaned close and muttered, then held out a hand as a dark, smoke shadow advanced on us. The shadow glowed antique-brown as it touched the blacksmith's hand, then crumbled into black dust that quickly disappeared into nothing.

I nocked an arrow onto the newly-tightened string of my bow, and repeated my query – "What is happening?"

"The protection failed." Halbu answered through gritted teeth, as he gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and hacked it at a bird-like demon with wide, gaping jaws, each set with multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth. "I don't know wh–"

"The Soulstone," said a quiet, quivering voice from behind. I let my arrow find its target in the chest of a screeching ghoul, its skeletal fingers twitching wildly before it collapsed onto the ground, the tattered cloak that it wore popping with residues of lightning. Master Cain continued, his voice getting smaller and smaller, "Mephisto's last struggle against his damned fate. The physical destruction of the Soulstone must have released a sudden surge of demonic energy, shattering the Fortress' shield and awakening these terrors…"

He trailed off and crawled back inside the nearby tent. This was about the first time I had seen him cease speaking by his own accord, though there was no time for me to comprehend the humour there.

"Papa!!" Kande shrieked from somewhere, startling her father. He began to look back and opened his mouth to call out to her, his concern blinding him from an oozing zombie, its boils-covered grey skin peeling off him in dangling ribbons. It leapt at Halbu, grinning, revealing its blackened teeth, like lopsided and weathered tombstones of tar erected in its greenish infection-ravaged gums.

In panicked reflex, I drew my arm across and elbowed the corpse in the hinge of the jaw. A sickening _crack_ issued forth from the brittle bones long dead, and Halbu, regaining his focus, lopped the head clean off the slackened shoulders.

I took half a step back to evade a swipe of the claws of what looked to me like a naked half-woman, half-wolf, its limbs elongated and skeletal, its skin tinged a cold inhuman blue beneath a thin, coarse coat of silver. It tried another strike, but one arrow pinned its hand onto the ground, and another followed to impale its skull. Steel-blue blood leaked from its eyes; I kicked it aside as I turned to the children. "Leaf! Get yourself and Kande inside!"

Leaf looked up, her expression one of dull shock as she hugged the screaming infant close; then she started, a shudder rippling through her body. She hitched Kande onto one hip and bolted.

Another shadow, cutting out the red light from above. My arrow was aimed before my eyes saw what it was, and by the time I took in what I shot, the arrow was halfway into the monster's chest – a flying, reptilian beast, with its long, slender tail spiked like whips for brutal scourging, and a head that was overtaken by jaws of black, dripping teeth. Black blood oozed slowly from the hole in its chest, dripping into my hair, thick and sticky like honey.

I took another shot, and the beast was frozen from the inside out; it crashed solidly to the ground as I quickly stepped out of the range of its wings. The sky was full of them; with Halbu busy with the infantry of Hell's soldiers, my worry grew into panic as I shot down another reptilian foe.

Kande screamed again, ever more piercingly, no longer fear but _terror_ in her strained cry.

I jerked around just to see the toddler tumble out of Leaf's arms; the latter had almost thrown the younger girl into the safety of the tent. She whipped around, and I saw the patch of red on the front of her pale blue dress expand as she lifted her eyes, staring right into those of a reptilian monster before her – it was substantially larger than the others, its scales bore a particular bronze sheen.

"Get _back_, Leaf!" I yelled, my voice hoarse with panic. Nocking an arrow and pouring my energy into them, I aimed directly at the bronze dragon's head. Then, just as I was about to release the bowstring, a mass of fire erupted in my right shoulder.

I drew my other arm across, knocking the assailant off with the end of my bow; my brief glimpse told me that it was one of the razor-teethed demon birds. Blood poured down my arm from the tens of puncture wounds, but as I drew my short sword to stab the fallen foe through its head, my eyes were locked, wide and gaping, upon the scene before me.

The demon opened its jaws and charged down at the small girl, as if to swallow her whole. Leaf looked up, naught but fierce focus in her eyes.

Time seemed to slow as she gritted her teeth, opened her arms, and held the dragon's jaws open. Her small hands closed around the teeth, and the blood from her palms mingled with the dribble that ran from the mouth of the monster.

A sharp exhale – a shout, if only her voice still existed – and the drips of stained spittle became balls of fire. Flames ran up the slim tongue of the dragon, down its throat, and at the moment the girl finally relinquished her iron grips, the monster exploded into blood-red flames.

A second later, the dragon was no more than a burnt charcoal skeleton.

Still in shock, I barely evaded a strike from a she-wolf-demon. My mind's eye directed my sword through the base of its skull, while a ghoul glided towards Leaf.

Leaf faced the incoming foe, and I saw her eyes now – the maroon of her irises seemed to have brightened, as the whites of her eyes became as blood. From a distance, her eyes were like two chasms into hellfire.

She held her hands up, blood trailing behind them in thin streams, and a mighty explosion boomed and resounded as they made contact with the ghost-like being. Flames of the same blood-red substituted the form of the ghoul for an instant, then puffed out of existence.

_Tirral, "leaf", a Zann Esu spell of fire and pyrokinesis. C__arved and imbued upon the girl with her mother's blood. _

Blood and fire.

No longer able to hold my gaze upon her for fear of my own safety, I returned my attention unwillingly to the action immediately around me. I managed to steal a glance once in a while, watching demons burst into flame, smelling their flesh and bone as they crisp. Leaf's blood drew flaming trails that sought and reached out to all that threatened her, and all the while, it was flowing.

Two blows landed simultaneously, one behind my knee and the other in my stomach, and I crumpled to the ground, unable to breathe. I anticipated the pain of my back being sliced open by the claws of the reptilian monster above me; instead, the beast landed on me rather gracelessly, coating me with thick syrupy blood.

"Celadon!" Oread's voice cut through the sounds of wet, thick explosions, no doubt the work of the Necromancer.

I forced air through my aching lungs, and huffed my words to the dirty boots before my eyes. "Get Leaf out."

Oread made no sign of having heard me, as she spun around on her heels. Then came the humming of her mana, and the continuous twangs of her bowstring. The low wheezing of fire charging through matter continued, and in my mind was the colourless mana of the girl, leaking, draining.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jamella's huge glaive swing down, followed by a wet clash. So all three of them were back… and all three were preoccupied.

Fighting back the pain that seemed to have spread over the entire lower half of my body, I pushed myself to my feet. I made my way towards Leaf, nocking an arrow and drawing the bowstring most of the way back before realising that my right arm was shaking; the entire length of my undershirt's sleeve felt wet and sticky.

A desperate moan escaped from my throat; slinging the bow over my bad shoulder, I drew out the sword, and hacked right through some small demon that leapt up from the ground, its body splitting apart before the jump managed to carry it to my eye-level. That was a shot of pure luck, but it startled the surrounding foes enough for me to sneak a few more steps forward, opening my view to Leaf once again.

To my horror, she was face-down on the ground, her long silken locks puddling in the pool of crimson beneath her small body. A ghoul pounced, the bones of its clawed fingers tearing out chunks of her hair and scalp.

I amputated an arm of another hulking shape that approached from the side, gritting my teeth as I braced myself for the mind-numbing bellow, and staggered over to Leaf after recovering from the nausea as quickly as my protesting legs could manage, my sword dividing the ghoul, before I threw myself over the tiny prone form.

She twitched, and then lifted her head a little towards a she-wolf-demon sprinting towards us. The moment its front leg touched the edge of the puddle, droplets of blood snaked up its leg, then over the rest of its body, and the howl came at the same time as the explosive burst of crimson flames from its entire mass.

"Leaf!" I cried, closing my hands around the girl's thin shoulders; they felt strangely cold. "Stop it!"

She turned, very slowly, then her hellish eyes locked onto mine. But beneath it, I still saw the little girl that she was, innocent despite her predestined damnation.

There was love in those eyes. Love, gratitude, and… regret.

Then they flared, and so did my arms. I fell back from her, flames licking at my forearms. They fizzled out almost as soon as I started shaking my hands to be rid of them.

I looked back, reaching out to hold onto Leaf, but grabbed only empty air; only my sight followed her as she ran off, blood falling in a trail behind her and bursting alight at her heels.

She ran into the thickest of the hoard of demons, forcing the rest of us away with her fiery aura. The gold of her hair caught the light once more before the monsters engulfed her.

A rumble; then a mighty explosion that knocked all that was standing flat onto the ground. A great surge of dry, baking heat, and a giant fireball, bright as rubies reflecting the rays of the sun, grew to fill almost half of the Fortress before shooting off into the crimson sky, joining it in its bloodiness.

Then it rained. Raindrops of black ashes, still warm to the skin.

Ashes that crumbled to dust upon landing, burying the living in its silence.


	44. Chapter 34: Sweet Imprudence

Wow, just about half a year since I've last posted. I'm not dead, and I've certainly not given up on this! It's just that I'm rather preoccupied with… stuff. Uni, training, church errands, and the rest are long periods of indulgence in fictional imaginings. No thanks to Emmy, that last one.

On the other hand, thanks _still _go to **Emmy**,** Luna**, **Virali**, **Metastasis**, **InnerFire**, **Razbash**, and all those who have alerted me one way or another during this huge, HUGE hiatus. Shortish chapter, this, but things are gonna get pretty hectic from now on, I think. Then again, I often surprise or shock myself by how the chapters actually end up. Murex has stolen my brain and ran away with it, maybe.

**Disclaimer: **Blizzard owns _Diablo_. Damn.

* * *

**Chapter 34**

**Sweet Imprudence**

* * *

For once, the red fiery landscape of Hell was replaced by one of grey dust. The wind felt thinner, though not hollow, as it carried the ashes of hellions through the air, sending them surging about in wild currents, which sometimes eddied within the walls of the Fortress, whistled in the corridors, lifted the fabric of the tents with its invisible force.

We had left the ashes to pile up for several days, as we focussed on the living and still-existent – wounds were treated, walls were rebuilt, enchantments were reinforced. We barely spoke; I did not know what exactly we were all recovering from. Exhaustion? Shock? Despair? Depression? The more important question, however – as I had asked myself so many times before then, and still do now – was… Would we ever really recover?

My companion and I – the two, Oread and Nyhl – sat together several days after Leaf's passing. Within the larger tent beside ours, Kande was moaning and sobbing softly, plagued by nightmares as she slept uneasily. Then came footsteps, and the infant's utterances were muffled as she was held by one of her parents.

Amongst the three of us, we sat still and silent. For several minutes, we did not speak, and our eyes did not meet. We were each engrossed in our own thoughts, which were probably all a far distance and time away.

Then I was embraced; I jumped, snapping back into the present reality, and caught sight of several loose tendrils of long, silvery-wheaten hair. Her cheek was warm against my scalp. I felt wet, warm trails stream from my eyes; they ran down my face, and the cooled droplets dripped onto my lap.

"I'm sorry, Celadon." Oread's voice was low, but it was even. Controlled.

Somehow, that set the world back into motion, where in time things do come to pass. The dead is gone, and the living must live on despite that. Nothing that had passed can truly be set right, and Leaf… her existence, her identity, it all began as a mistake, and it probably ended as a mistake.

The dead may be gone, but the living carries the burden of their memories, the marks that the dead had left upon them, burnt into their souls.

Outside, the wind-borne ashes howled through the emptiness, as if in mourning.

* * *

With the building threat and dying defence – of the Fortress' physical rigidity and its inhabitants' morale – of the Fortress, Master Deckard Cain was sent back to Kurast hurriedly, escorted by the archangel. Tyrael then proceeded upon some errands and did not return until over a week later. Upon his reconfiguration into the human child, he collapsed, and did not regain consciousness until the following night.

"It is unfortunate." Those were his first words as we sat at the small dinner table, the six of us. Kande was asleep in another partition of the tent.

We waited, but he did not continue.

My master utters a low growl. "That's it?" Her hands fisted upon the table, the knuckles whitening. "A little girl died and it's all just a matter of fortune?"

Tyrael's eyes snapped instantly onto Oread's, the mercury orbs somehow duller than usual. "There were… unforeseen consequences. I've been preoccupied since the disturbance caused by the Soulstone's destruction, in an attempt to contain the damage and most importantly, keep the seals in place, so that Diablo may not feed off his brother's power. We are divine, but we're not almighty, you see." Taking note of Oread's persistent glare, he added, "What would you have me do, then? Resurrect her?"

There was another pulse of silence, before Tyrael continued, lowering his eyes. "It is true that it is within my power to return _some_ creatures to life, but firstly, the girl once known as 'Leaf' was not merely mortal, but part-hellion. I am thus unable to bring her back through means of divine intervention."

He paused, and shifted in his seat – all these little gestures that made him so childlike, so _human_. "Secondly, when one requests for someone to be resurrected, they must pay the price, the compensation. One must offer a life in return; this life must be younger than the life that was lost, and one that was loved by the deceased."

"So, in other words," Nyhl spoke up, his tone of voice flat. "No-one would be able to return without being utterly broken."

Tyrael straightens, though his voice grew more solemn. "Exactly." Nyhl muttered something under his breath. Tyrael merely slanted his gaze onto him for a brief moment, then shrugs, the gesture just barely noticeable. "Life and death should be absolute, and one cannot tamper with the balance, or cheat it without making substantial sacrifices. That is all."

"But–" I began, my voice a coarse croak. I cleared my throat, swallowed, and tried again. "But even though she's part-hellion, as you said, Tyrael…" I felt my cheeks flush as my eyes misted over. "That… doesn't mean that she – her soul, is doomed to hell, right?"

Tyrael smiled at that – it was an expression that I had not seen for days. "She _was _part-human, too, was she not, Celadon?" He straightens just a little. "This is where freewill comes in. Humans have the choice to live the life they want, and thus decide their destination after death."

And so… there _was _hope. Leaf's heritage, her birth, her predetermined life of suffering that was brutally cut short, there was at least a part of it all that she could make and call her own. She existed, she lived, she died; more importantly, she loved, and she would still be loved.

_Tirral_, leaf of the flames, daughter of the Zann Esu, dearly beloved companion of mine. May the gods rest your soul.

* * *

I was shocked.

"Can you do it, Tyrael?"

"Here? At this point in time? In these circumstances?"

This was the most reckless thing I had heard in the longest time. The seals are weakening, a battle with the Lord of Terror himself might have been just around the corner, and they were asking Tyrael to –

"Marry us."

I did not think it possible for the archangel to lose his composure, but the disbelief in his features was plainly visible. His feet shifted backwards just a little, and he gaped.

In the meanwhile, I had finally found my voice again. It came out shrill and cracked. "You _can't_ do this! Not _now_, of all times!" I looked right at Oread, hardening my gaze as much as I could manage. "Why?!"

"Why not?" Oread blinked as she turned to me, her expression neutral. "We love one another, and we wish to be acknowledged by the gods as a couple. Is that wrong?"

"That's not the point!" Anger fuelled by exasperation filled my chest and my voice. "It's not wrong, but it's… inappropriate!" I exhaled, the breath hissing sharply through my teeth. "Look, please… pardon my rudeness and let me say this not as a subordinate mercenary, but as a companion and friend – don't you think it's in bad taste to do that here and now?"

"Consider it desperation if you wish, Celadon." Nyhl spoke up, his hand tightening around Oread's. I looked up at him, and saw that he was smiling just a touch – a discreet smile, one that was assertive but not defiant. "Maybe it's the feeling of doom that constantly hangs over this place, but it is what we wish. I wouldn't say that this is the best time and place myself, but here we are," he shifted his hand onto Oread's shoulder and pulled her close, his eyes softening as she leaned onto him. "And we might as well take the chance when we still can."

I jerked my head back to Tyrael, hoping that he would exercise some of his divine authority and convince them otherwise.

The archangel had by now resumed his poise. His head was lowered, as if in contemplation, but after an instant he lifted his eyes, slowly, his gaze sweeping steadily up until it met Oread's. It paused there for a brief moment, and then moved onto Nyhl's, sharp and stern.

After a few still seconds, His lids drooped over the shimmering orbs. "I see."

A wave of frustration welled up within me. Surely thoughts were exchanged during those few seconds of physical silence. Tyrael approved the marriage, and in my position, there really was nothing I could do about it.

Jamella and Halbu gave no resistance to the idea when my companions told them about it over the dinner table. They merely offered their congratulations calmly, and I got the irking feeling of annoyance once more.

As I lay in bed that night, pondering about the turn of events, I eventually found myself thumbing the ring upon my finger, thinking of Jerhyn, all the way in Lut Gholein, and wondered if that was why I was so angry at Oread and Nyhl's hasty decision. Was it because I had abstained myself, that I was now so disapproving of my companions' lack of restraint? Am I _jealous_ that they had achieved what I was too wary of attempting?

I should be happy for them, really, but it just seemed too lightly decided... too spontaneous, maybe a little selfish. I felt shut out; we were companions, and now I was forever going to be an outsider to this married couple.

I glanced over at the empty space on the other side of the room, where Leaf's bed used to stand. Oread was with her husband-to-be, in a separate tent. There was no sound of breathing other than that of my own; the silence was stagnant, and bitterness came over me, bordering on resentment. For fear of my thoughts turning me against my place and duty, I told my mind to be quiet, rolled over, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Jamella paid me a visit the next morning as I lay in bed, feeling down and lethargic. She brought her infant daughter with her, and upon bidding me a good morning, Kande put her little arms around me. That melted away some coldness inside, and I carried the girl up onto my lap, rocking her gently as I sat on the edge of my bed.

"You'd make a good mother, Celadon." Jamella observed, and despite the strong tone that she always carried in her voice, there was a soft smile upon her features – an expression that she did not wear often. Kande was dozing lightly, her thumb in her mouth. "My brother has chosen well."

I felt heat swell onto my cheeks. "It's not like that... I didn't know he'd meant to take me as his spouse until you told me so." I chewed a little on my lips. "He should've just said it."

"You seem to be a very reserved sort of a young woman; perhaps he thought he might scare you." Jamella said decidedly. Before I could respond, she continued. "What your companions are doing, does that scare you?"

I did not like this; it was as if I was being found guilty of a misdeed. "It's... a bit of a shock, is all. They'd met in Kurast, and I don't know how things got the way they are so quickly, but it would seem that a lot's happened during the time when I was recovering, when we first got here." A grumble escaped me. "It just feels like I've missed many things, and that there are some matters on which they're not letting me in."

Jamella considered this, and leans back in her seat, her eyes fixed upon her young daughter. "Nothing can stop people from falling in love; you may think it's best to hold back your personal emotions and feelings for businesses at hand, and that may be the right thing to do in the eyes of most people who are fighting for the Sanctuary, but that doesn't mean it's the only way the world works." She reaches out to touch Kande's cheek, her strong, large-knuckled hands possessing an incongruous gentleness. "We're not mere defenders of the Sanctuary; we are human, in and of ourselves, and the way we want to love and be loved is only in our nature."

I held my silence; Kande's breath was soft and warm against my neck. I remembered the nights when I held Leaf close against my chest as she slept through her nightmares, and realised just how much I missed that, how much I wanted to feel that warmth again, the warmth of another body against my own.

Jamella got to her feet. "Be happy for what they've made out of all these doom and gloom, won't you?" Her strong hand rested briefly upon my shoulder as she straightened. "You can watch Kande for now; we'll have breakfast together in a bit."

* * *

"Nyhl Ilvait, Oread Sagen, by the witness of the gods and the hosts of the heavens, you are now made husband and wife. May this divine covenant remain true, through all trials in life and in death, until the end of time."

Oread uttered a mirthful chuckle as she threw her arms around Nyhl, her wedding garments - plain but elaborately-draped robes - shifted between azure and peacock-blue as the light played upon the iridescent fabric. A wide sash of the same material held her hair back in a careless chignon, some finer wisps having already fallen loose at the nape of her neck. Nyhl was adorned in more conservative robes of ultramarine and sapphire. He enveloped his bride in an easy embrace, the plain wedding band of steel glinting with his movements.

After sharing a brief look of absolute endearment, they kissed. I was captured by the serenity of the scene – they did not hold anything back; there was no guard, no pretension, no cares or worries in the feeling of the action. Despite the circumstances, the situation, the place, the time... there was no need to elaborate, and there was no need to downplay.

That moment, it was perfection in and of itself.

Such is humanity. Such is freewill. Such is love.


	45. Chapter 35: Break

Why hello everyone! Long time no see!

I've got a research project to get on with this year, for which I am hell-bent upon getting good marks. I don't know whether that means less time for 'fic-writing, or more inappropriate musergy-surges for the love of untimely irony. We'll see.

Thank you to all those who have been reading this 'fic diligently, despite my not-so-diligent updates. Thanks to you who have added me to alerts and favourites over this time, too. You guys are awesome. Special mentions to **SoulCry** for the thoughtful review!

And as always, much thanks to **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**, who's put up with me for another year, with or without spazzage.

Yay for multi-meaning chapter names.

**Disclaimer: **_Diablo _isn't mine, nor are its sequels. Even my mind isn't my own, but is at its own command, apparently. Doesn't stop my skull from physically containing it though. For now.

* * *

**Chapter 35**

**Break**

* * *

Some time after the wedding, there was a period back then, when I simply did not know how to feel. There was the Lord of Terror, sealed just somewhere beneath the brittle ground on which we stood. Every time a jet of steam spurted from a geyser in the land beyond the Fortress, it felt as if the very earth was groaning and struggling in its containment of such a creature.

On the other hand, here in the Fortress were us. Two families. One was a family of three with an infant girl, the other was a pair of newlyweds. Was it the doomsday atmosphere, I wonder? Were they just trying to savour every little moment they had? Here within the walls it was too quiet, too inactive, too ignorant about it all, as it seemed.

And then there was me.

I had not felt that alone since… forever, I think. Before Oread picked me out of the line of Rogue scouts, I had my sisters, everyone who were of the Sisterhood. After that, aside from my master herself, there were always other people. There was Jerhyn in Lut Gholein, and Falcon, and Leaf… by the time we got to Kurast, we had lost Falcon, but there was Natalya, and I had grown close to Leaf, not only as her caretaker, but she was also my friend, and something of a ward, a little sister to me.

Now she was gone, they all were; and as much as I liked both of my current companions in battle, they had been bound together, and there would forever be something that I could not and should not intervene.

I spent my days training, a lot of the times by myself. Strangely, I did not mind doing that alone too much. It felt like ages since I had trained this way, when I practised and honed my skills with such relative… leisure, for the need of a better word. Since leaving Westmarch our journey had been a bit of a hasty blur to me, now that I thought about it, being ushered from one place to another by some form of urgency every time.

That is not to say, of course, that such leisureliness was in the least bit justified. We were putting it off, the final battle with the Lord of Terror. I knew it, and I knew that the others knew it, too. We put it off for something like well over two months. There were three small invasions which we held off without too much trouble.

Tyrael returned twice, and said significantly less than he did before. His eyes, though… the anxiety in them was apparent, however calm his expressions were otherwise. Sometimes his gaze even grew accusatory.

One morning, I was lingering just outside of the Fortress' walls, doing some… target practise. It felt mundane, looking at this unchanging landscape, taking down the monsters approaching from afar, all the while knowing that there are just thousands more where those came from.

_What are you doing, Celadon?_

I turned around, startled but not entirely surprised, to see Tyrael perched upon a sharply-jutting rock that extended from the steep slope leading up to the Fortress.

"Practising my sights." I replied aloud, releasing the taut bowstring as my eyes remained on the Archangel, though my Inner Sight saw the monster fall. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Waiting for you all to do something, I suppose." His tone was mild, and somewhat sad. "Are you waiting, too?"

"You already know the answer to that, don't you, Archangel?" I faced him squarely, waiting for his eyes to meet my own, so that I could be sure he saw the emotions through my expressions. "Why are _you_ waiting, anyway?"

He exhaled, his eyes slightly narrowed as he peered into the distance, towards the Chaos Sanctuary. "Would you prefer it if I'd brought it straight up, instead? Sure, that'd be taken right in."

Archangel or not, in this eight-year-old physique, for that moment, he just seemed like any other insolent boy. "Why do you bother, then? You should know already, there's this thing a lot of humans are afraid of; a little something called _death_. You're asking us to face up to someone even _you _can't kill, and you're immortal."

"I've already told you, it's a little something else called _freewill_ I'm betting on." There was a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, or that was what I thought I saw. "Besides, I'm only a spiritual existence. Diablo is _both _physical and spiritual, likewise his minions, but also likewise for humans." He continued in that calm, almost aloof tone. "And pardon me for losing my lieutenant, as well as most if not all of my divine army. Because unlike what you may think, I can't be in two places at once, and I can't fight Diablo when I'm busy trying to hold the seals in place."

I felt a little sorry for him then. "Well…" I cleared my throat, trying to move away from this guilt-inciting conversation. "You… come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure now; you _are_ immortal, right?"

He looked down at himself, lifted his hand to inspect the palm, then the back of it. "This body's mortal, isn't it?"

I felt my eyes widen in surprised realisation. "So… you _can_ die?"

"I don't know if I'd call it dying, as you do for physical beings." He shrugged. "But… to date, I've gotten rather large portions of my spiritual being torn out of me, and what remained doesn't like its current state much, which is why I prefer to hold it in this body as a physical container. I suppose if the rest gets destroyed, you can call it death. After all, that seems to be what's happened to my lieutenant." He looks over himself again, with a sort of placid curiosity. "And I think… if _this_ breaks, then things would be messy, too."

I bit my bottom lip while considering that thought. I do not think that I had my mind really wrapped around that concept, at the time, but what I knew for sure was that… either way, Tyrael was not going to hold up the defences much longer.

The boy hopped down from his perch. "I need to be off." he said plainly, his words hanging in the sulfuric air, before he took off towards the Chaos Sanctuary once more in his fragile form of divinity.

* * *

"Honestly, how much longer are you planning to idle around here?" I brought it right up to Oread's face that very evening. I was getting tired of this, myself; the fact that Tyrael brought it up with me… he probably knew that I was going to act upon what he told me, and for all the gods knew he could have said what he did so I could handle the dirty work, but it was the least of my cares; it was enough of a reason for me to say something.

Oread pulled me aside, further into the tent, and almost forcefully sat me down upon the edge of her bed, before crossing her arms, standing over me and facing me squarely. "You didn't _have_ to keep giving us those looks and snide comments all through dinner, now, did you?"

I sucked in a breath, the air hissing through my teeth, though I managed to hold that for a moment, and then let it out slowly. "We're not meant to stay here and not do anything. Either we go back or we move on, but we can't just sit here and watch the days go by like this."

"Look, Celadon…" She sighed deeply, brushing the long strands of silvery-wheaten hair off of her face. "What are the chances that we can slay Diablo, really? Tyrael can't do it, Naiad couldn't do it, and so many others who'd come before us couldn't do it."

I regarded my master; she looked different, somehow… different to the last time I had really looked at her closely. Her posture, her expressions, her eyes… she had lost some of the fight that I remembered seeing in her.

My eyes narrowed and my brows tightened. "Why you brought me out here in the first place… why you're here, why _I_'m here now… you've forgotten, huh?"

Her eyes flared, then. She slapped me across the face, hard enough to make bright spots flash into my vision, but I heard her; I had struck a nerve, a rather precise hit, evidently.

"Don't you dare to even _suggest_ that, Celadon!" She was yelling, her voice breaking from the instantaneous strain on her throat. "Just that I'd gotten married, and— don't you _dare_!"

I kept my eyes averted from her face, my jaws clenched tight as I fought back my welling emotions, the heated feeling on my face that only seemed to burn more fiercely as I did so.

The sound of the heavy curtain that served as the tent's entrance being flung open, and a gasp from Oread, followed by her husband's soothing voice. "Take it easy, Oread, c'mon."

I looked up; Nyhl was embracing Oread from the back, his arms folded about her abdomen, and his cheek against the side of her head. My master was visibly sedated, but before I could steal a closer look, Nyhl gave me a sharp glance, and nodded towards the curtain. I crept out quickly without another word.

I sat alone in the dark in my own quarters – there were rearrangements, of course, and now the couple shared a tent while I had one to myself – for a good hour before he approached me. Nyhl asked if I was awake; I grunted a reply. He came in, tentatively, lit the lamp, and simply stood there in front of me. I did not look up, but he seemed to be in no hurry to leave, neither. Knowing that his patience would most likely outlast mine, I finally broke the silence after a good few minutes.

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it, as far as I know?" He shrugged; his tone was mild but demanding, in such a way that only he could manage. "You don't like the way things are going; you're blaming this, at least in part, on our recent marriage, aren't you?"

I sighed; it was just like him to point it out so blatantly and precisely. "I don't _want _to do it, but—"

"It's hard not to. I understand." He finished my sentence for me. "I see your point. Really."

He joined me on the floor as he sat down, clasped his hands together as he lowered his eyes, as though in contemplation. "Truth be told, if you're thinking we're trying to drag this out, you're not far off the mark." He glanced up at me to try and meet my eyes. "You understand _that_, right?"

I lifted my gaze to glare at him. "That's why I thought you two getting married in the first place, here and then, was a weird idea."

"So what is it that you want us to do about it, Celadon?" His eyes were not angry, but rather, a touch resentful and despaired. "Break it off and head towards Diablo for better or worse?"

I could have _hated_ him for putting it that way.

"We haven't been wasting our days just exchanging words, you realise." His voice grew harder, now. "We're trying our best to prepare for the worst, too, as you have. We know why we're here; we know what we're in for. We haven't forgotten."

I perked up at those words. It was a relief, really, to know that they _did _still feel the doom, that they still recognise the constant death that held sway over us all.

Then again… was it even right to be relieved about feeling that way? This inhuman place… makes us all a little less human, perhaps.

* * *

I apologised to Oread the coming morning for saying what I did, and she apologised to me for lashing out. On the outside, we both shrugged it off, regarded the incident as irrelevant with all these other troubles going on, and pragmatically called the issue settled.

On the inside, we both knew that no-one forgives or forgets that easily.

Still, we were once again practising together, my companions and me. Upon the plains whose very names were "Despair", we stood between the Fortress of the Light and the Sanctuary of the Dark, taking down target after target… yes; by then those were not monsters, not enemies, merely targets.

The _real_ enemies were further off.

Oread and I still did not speak to one another much, save the occasional comments when a good hit was landed.

"Nice." She said simply as my arrow soared through the air with very minimal yaw, landing into the throat of a winged monster, and exploding into flames upon impact.

"Thanks." I replied, then watched on as she took three arrows from her quiver, nocked one while holding the other two between the last three fingers of her right hand. She let out a clear shout, and released the bowstring, before nocking another one, letting that fly, and then doing the same to the last arrow. The arrows, fired in quick succession, was encased in a smoky envelop of her indigo mana as they sought out their victims.

After watching three monsters separated by yards in distance fall almost simultaneously, she let out a soft sigh, and looks towards her husband, an impish grin playing upon her lips.

He returned the look. "I can do that, too."

"Oh, yes?" Oread raised a brow sceptically. "I don't see you wielding a bow, and honestly don't think you can aim that well."

Nyhl shrugged, tossed his hair over his shoulder, and sheathed his long sword. He flexed both his hands, closed his eyes momentarily, and extended his left arm.

In an instant, tendrils of sickly, pale blue-green rose off his arm, and an energetic, denser mass of the same shade formed in his hand. It shot off in a gust of wind, a glowing, horned skull with jaws agape, and what looked like tentacles trailing behind it. He repeated the same actions with his right hand, and another spirit – or whatever it was – soared off into the distance. With the lack of other nearby victims, both proceeded to feed on the same demon, one that crawled on four legs… by the time it fell, the four legs were ripped from the body and flung apart in a thick puddle of brownish blood.

Nyhl flicked both his wrists, and the spirits winked out.

"You're a sick, sick man, you know that?" Oread smiled, in spite of her words.

Nyhl beamed brightly in return. "That's why you married me."

He then drew his dagger, and turned to run towards another approaching four-legged humanoid, the blade of his dagger glowing dimly greenish.

Oread snorted, and before her husband could land a strike, she intercepted the monster with an arrow that chilled upon impact – the monster opened its mouth to cry out, but its voice caught as its movements slowed. Another arrow and it stopped altogether, its blood frozen solid within their vessels. I saw the whites of its gaping eyes redden, tiny bumps and bruises rose out of its hairless skin, as the crystallising blood and fluids ruptured what used to contain them, and spread out just beneath the skin, before they were completely frozen.

What I saw now was a corpse in suspended animation, and I could not help but wince at the sight. Surely, as soon as it thawed, it would end up as no more than a puddle of bloody pulp.

Nyhl marvelled at the corpse for a moment, quirked a tiny grin, and reached out to place his hand upon it. His mana focused, but before the familiar pulse and the accompanying explosion, Oread drew her bow, hard, and there came a sharp twang.

Her arrow first cracked the cadaver, then the body crumbled, each piece of frozen meat and bones hitting the ground and shattering further, the smaller pieces starting to melt and disintegrate into a mushy mess promptly.

Nyhl's face fell as he turned to his wife. "Well, that was unhelpful."

"And covering everyone in bits of body parts is helpful?" Oread cocked her head.

"No in that sense, but you'd better not—"

"Wait, what was that?" I cut the two off from their endearing exchange of sarcasm. There was a sickening pulse of energy from the Chaos Sanctuary. I jerked my eyes towards it, but all I caught was a glimpse of white light winking out.

"Was that Tyrael?" Oread inquired; I did not offer her a response, however. Slinging my bow upon my shoulder, I took off towards the Fortress. Tyrael would return there, if he could; and if he could not, we were not about to linger about this place now.

We scrambled up to the top of the stairs leading to the refuge of the Pandemonium Fortress just as Tyrael reappeared in the centre of the Fortress' courtyard. He was in his spiritual, angelic form, though the bright white aura that usually enclosed him was dimmed almost to the point of being absent. His wings, the radiating streams of white energy, seemed to be disintegrating, as bits of it dropped off like flakes, and faded into nothing as it drifted through the air.

By the time Jamella and Halbu ran into the scene, with Kande in tow, Tyrael's entire figure turned transparent, collapsed into a thick, grey, foggy mass, and assumed the familiar form of the young boy. Even in human form, his colour was bad.

"Tyrael," Jamella frowned. "What happened to you?"

The Archangel – the sickly-looking boy, now – looked up, his quicksilver eyes somehow dulled. He parted his lips to speak, but instead of words came a convulsion, a weak croak, and a stream of red pouring down and splattering over his immaculate white robes.

The next instant was a mad flurry; Jamella shouting something, Halbu catching Tyrael before he plummeted head-first onto the stone floor, Kande bursting into tears, me running to calm the little girl down.

"Shit, Tyrael…" Oread ran her fingers roughly back through her hair, after dropping to her knees beside the small figure lying on the floor. "What got you?"

Jamella shook her head at Oread sharply as she laid the boy on his back, and turned his head to the side. She pressed both her hands over his solar plexus, and as her mana focused, the pool of blood under Tyrael's head stopped spreading as the streaming from his mouth eased. He blinked several times, and turned to look at each of us in turn, the left side of his face and his white-blond hair smeared crimson by his own blood.

"Don't—" Jamella turned to give the Archangel a hard stare. "—move. Stay still." Turning to Oread, she told her sternly, "Whatever got him… putting it simply, did to him the equivalent of blowing a gaping hole right through the stomach."

Oread winced, her hand moving subconsciously to her own stomach. Nyhl put his arm around her shoulder.

Jamella's lips thinned as she returned her eyes to the boy. "So… if you've got multiple organs torn out of you, what remains obviously don't work together very well."

"That's… not _quite_ accurate." Tyrael's voice, childlike yet mature, was unexpectedly steady. Soft and weak, but steady.

Jamella shushed him curtly. "You _do_ realise, Tyrael, that when the red liquid comes out of a body like _that_, it's usually a sign that whoever owns the body is going to _die_."

"Not any time too soon with the way you're helping, Jamella." He managed a tiny gesture of a nod. "But… pardon me for such troubles. The seals were broken, and I got rather overwhelmed."

We all turned our eyes to him, then. Jamella twitched significantly at the knowledge, making Tyrael gasp in response; but it was Nyhl who voiced our fears.

"Diablo's _out_?"

"Mmph." The mercury eyes narrowed a touch. "I held up against him for a while before I became preoccupied with his minions and underlings. By the end of it, all I could manage was to hit him hard enough to stun him for a moment, clear a path, and barricade him within the grounds of his own Sanctuary." He frowned, and closed his eyes. "It's not going to hold for very long."

Jamella bit hard on her lip as she sucked a breath in through her teeth. "We have to head out."

Halbu clapped his hand onto his wife's shoulder, and as she turned to him, he shook his head, a gentle smile upon his features. "No, you're staying here. You know how to work the defence enchantments, and you know how to fix him…" He looked down at Tyrael, his smile fading, then back at his wife, sea-green orbs upon those of midnight-blue. "… Well, you know how to help him hold himself together."

"Halbu…" Jamella's voice was soft. She trailed off, looked intently at him for a moment, then nodded twice – first with hesitation, then firmly, with resolution. "I want you back."

The Paladin embraced his wife and kissed her quickly on the lips. "I'll try my best." He then turned to his little daughter, hugged her too, and ruffled her tightly-coiled ringlets.

In return, Kande graced her father with two successive kisses on both his cheeks. "Don't die, Papa."

Halbu just smiled and kissed her at the top of her head.

"You're sure, sir?" I was doubtful; I had never seen Halbu in combat, or even _thought_ of him being in combat. He seemed the family man while Jamella was the one who took care of the Fortress' safety.

Halbu looked at me, his eyes soft, his lips curved once more into a gentle smile. "I'm not _just_ a blacksmith. I wasn't just brought here to forge things." He straightened, his smile disappearing instantly. "We both have our own duties; now I've been called to carry mine out."

I nodded firmly at Halbu's words; this time was finally here. I was not looking forward to it, by all means, but it was finally beginning, and there was finally something I can anticipate, for better or worse.

Nyhl was not as resolute about this as I felt, apparently. He took a moment, as though to ponder Halbu's suggestion and all that it entailed, then he turned to his newly-wedded wife.

Oread groaned, irritably, and scowled at him. "We've been through this—"

"I know. I thought asking once more wouldn't hurt." He frowned, clear concern written across his features.

"It wouldn't change my mind, neither." Oread's tone was solid. Steadily, she got to her feet, and nodded at Halbu, the stern ferocity seeming to begin to return to her; it returned to her stance, at the least, and the gleam in her eyes.

"Get equipped." The Paladin ordered… _commanded_. "We leave this Fortress in five minutes."


	46. Chapter 36: Even In Death

Holy crud, I last updated in MARCH? Darn it's been too long. I've been preoccupied with my thesis, training, church duties, and recently, being a demonstrator for starry-eyed, idealistic first-years. That's about it, and it's enough. In fact, I was meant to have spent the day writing my thesis… except a CERTAIN reviewer reviewed, then reread and re-reviewed. It was the last reader-love that broke the writer's block. Thanks, **Razbash**! Thanks also to all the reviewers who've either kept up with or picked up reading my 'fic (in no particular order): **CecilRedwing**, **SeltzerBaby**, **Wingcommander Whitewolf**, **KitsuneNoYomeiri**,** InnerFire**,** Fayth85, Luna Atra**, and **SoulCry**, as well as all those who've added me to their alerts.

Special thanks always to **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**; for all the ups and downs we've had, you're still the same great friend and great spazz-mate.

Now if only I could write with this sort of efficiency for my thesis, eh.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Blizzard, I don't own _Diablo_, I don't own jack except my sadistic muse. Yes the skills may not work exactly as canon dictates, but I only tweak them to my liking to offer something more interesting. Peace out.

* * *

**Chapter 36**

**Even In Death**

* * *

This was it. The Chaos Sanctuary, a corrupted cruciform ruin that still bore an eerie resemblance to a grand cathedral. We stood beneath its great arch of an entrance that supported an inexistent roof, facing the translucent barricade that Tyrael had hurriedly constructed. I could see the shapes of Hellions within the pulsating barrier of light, their forms – protruding skeletons, overgrown muscles, spiked leathery wings, insectile limbs – becoming clearer by the second as the glow of the barricade faltered.

"We're not charging into _that_, are we?" Oread inquired, her brows furrowed in obvious anxiety. I must have had a similar expression on my own face, because really… to charge into this battle, when all the five seals that held Diablo and his troops had been broken, was nothing more than instant suicide.

Halbu shook his head. Thankfully. "Not unless you want to die in a million pieces." He narrowed his eyes; this was a face of the Paladin that I had never seen before. I had known the family man, the gentle father, the dutiful blacksmith... this was another side of Halbu. His face was stern, his jaws were set, and his eyes were resolute.

"This barricade's not unlike one you'd construct out of wood and iron." He said, his gaze shifting along with the pulsing translucence of the spherical barrier. "The offensive energy is directed inwards, and there are gaps from which you can attack the other side." His lips thinned. "However, like a physical barricade, it will also eventually succumb to assaults."

"So..." Nyhl stared through the barricade, his eyes fixed upon the violence within. "We attack through the openings for as long as the barricade holds." He turned his gaze onto the Paladin then; his pale eyes were filled with cold anticipation. "And when it fails we just slaughter our way through the horde?"

Halbu raised a brow quizzically. "Do you _want_ to get yourself killed? No, we're going to work something out before that happens."

"Making sure." Nyhl shrugged. Somehow, though, I did not think he had said that completely in sarcasm. Somehow I could see him doing just that.

Apparently Oread thought something similar. "We don't want anyone dead any time too soon, remember?" She reminded her husband curtly. "We've had enough of that for a while." She scoffed as she turned away. Nyhl smiled a little at that.

"Where's Diablo?" I asked, trying to peer through the barricade with my eyes, both my physical ones and that of my mind. The latter saw a condensed mass of energy in the centre of the hemispherical barricade, an envelope of searing white barely containing the abyssal black within, the light fading little by little as the darkness seeped through, like gore beneath a fragile layer of skin. "Is that him in the middle?"

Halbu frowned deeply as he considered. "Tyrael's bought us some time so we can take out at least some of the lackeys before we'll have to take on the Lord of Terror himself. He _did_ say he managed to stun him."

"Let's not waste any time, then." I drew an arrow from my quiver and fixed the end onto my bowstring. "It's running out fast as it is."

The string was released, the arrow glided through an almost-transparent patch in the barricade and struck a heavily-armoured, skeletal humanoid in the throat, and the battle was on.

* * *

One day ago, I did not know that Halbu was a capable combatant. One hour ago, I did not know that he was a tactician.

The barricade had dissipated, but as Oread and I took down the remaining minions as quickly as we could, Diablo, having recovered from his stupor by now, remained trapped within a smoky haze – a cloud of toxic fumes, brewed from the very bodies of his fallen, festering minions.

"It's common knowledge that us Paladins of the Light are rather disapproving of the Necromantic arts that manipulate the dead and the darkness of the mind." Halbu had said, rather matter-of-factly. "Because of that, we've had to learn about your race, and since I've a fair idea of what you can do," he nodded at Nyhl, "we can buy more time with that."

Here was a Paladin who preferred for things to be practical than to be moral, and a Necromancer who followed his race's laws by the book, regardless of any of his own rational objections. I wondered if our company could ever have someone normal.

Halbu had the four of us enclosed in his aura; as he prayed for divine protection, my magical threshold strengthened. It was also because of this aura that Nyhl had managed to create, at a substantial distance, a ring of bloody explosions around Diablo, and then made the corpses fester with poison, trapping the demon lord in his place.

Of course, Diablo was not one to stand for this. From his temporary prison he still commanded the hell fires to rain down upon us. While I was busy enough trying to prevent myself from being scorched, Oread was the only one actively offensive, as she released her self-guided arrows whenever she could. Some of those were intercepted by the fire, but some did reach their target.

Our plan was to hold out this formation for as long as we can manage, depleting Diablo's energy as much as possible. His lack of ability to deal direct damage to our party obviously frustrated him; I felt the flow of his energy change dramatically in an instant – he directed his strength inwards, ceasing the fiery assaults.

I am not sure if my master saw what was coming, or is she was just oblivious; either way she took the chance. She turned to Nyhl, and the couple exchanged a knowing look. The Necromancer held out a hand; the ashes in the air, mixed with the white dust of old bones, were manipulated by his magic. Within seconds they took the form of an elongated missile – a throwing spear. He and Oread locked eyes for one more instant, and at the moment Nyhl launched his spear off towards Diablo, Oread closed her eyes and focused her mind, imbuing the missile with the self-navigating magic of her arrows. The spear pierced Diablo, exited his body, and changed course to pierce him again and again, repeatedly peppering the demon lord.

"Not even death can save you from me!" Diablo's voice erupted, making the very air tremble. The spear splintered; Halbu's aura faded, and now we were the ones caught off-guard, as the demon lord sent a bolt of lightning ripping through the ground. Nyhl and Oread managed to get out of its way, but I was struck by a chunk of the stone tiles that the bolt unearthed. Halbu, however, who was still somewhat dazed by his aura being forcefully halted, copped a hit squarely on the chest.

I cried out to him, and was relieved to see that he had gotten onto his knees without too much trouble. Diablo appeared to have targeted the Paladin as his first victim, and I tried to fend him off with my arrows as he drew closer. My heart rose higher into my throat as I took in the demon lord's form – his scarlet, tough hide drawn tautly over his enlarged, fibrous muscles; each of his vertebrae was spiked and stuck out from his back, all the way down to the tip of his reptilian tail. His face – one glance at it made me taste bile at the back of my tongue – was a gnarled, nightmarish mask, his eyes gleaming like fresh blood upon a fine steel blade.

As I was taken by fear for an instant, Diablo swipe at me with his claws. Reflexively, I tried to parry the attack with the only thing in my hand – my bow. The wood shattered, and I was thrown off. I fell, my stomach feeling wet and the icy chill radiating throughout my body, from my torso to the extremities of my limbs.

While I stared into the fathomless red sky above, paralysed, my mind's eye showed me the ongoing battle. Halbu's being flashed white, and something of the same brightness descended from the sky to land right on top of Diablo, stopping the monster's advance on my prone form. Nyhl's energy, a deep blue, began to swirl; one moment later, Oread's own spiritual energy behaved in exactly the same way, the two colours – blue and indigo, moved in unison.

Then they both glinted. The Necromancer's became a deeper blue, my master's, though… it was crimson.

The chill subsided enough for me to feel the searing sting in my stomach. I pushed myself to sit up, and my hand felt the pool of blood on the ground. Not daring to look down at my injury, I uncorked a vial of potion and swallowed the contents as I tried to catch on with whatever was happening.

Halbu's bolts seemed to rain from the heavens. They smote Diablo directly, but I did not see what was keeping the demon lord still until I looked more carefully.

There was an envelope of dark smoke around Diablo, dense and hazy. The monster roared and grunted, but his cries were muffled. His claws twitched. He turned his head around wildly, trying desperately to seek out his targets, but he appeared to be oblivious to our positions.

Nyhl and Oread held hands, their free palms outstretched towards the demon lord. Their eyes were shadowed.

Something flashed in my mind, as though I had seen this before, somewhere, somehow.

Pushing the thought away for later consideration, I forced myself to my feet. Oread perked up, and, releasing her husband's hand, she ran over to me.

"You're okay?" She asked hastily, her eyes still somewhat darker and the gleam in them more sinister than usual. I nodded, and she handed me her bow and quiver. I blinked at her questioningly, but she simply shook her head and took the spear from the sling across her back. "Stay off and back us up. Don't come too close if you can avoid it." She ordered, and ran back off towards Diablo, jagged streaks of lightning radiating off the tip of her spear.

Meanwhile, as she came over to check on me, Halbu and Nyhl had continued their barrage of assaults, both from above with Halbu's rain of missiles, and from the sides with Nyhl's… ghostly skull summons. The spirits opened their jaws in a snake-like manner, their teeth tearing at the demon lord, misting up the air with vile blood. Yet, the monster did not fall. He was nowhere _near_ falling. In retaliation to the assaults, he sent novas of fire propagating at an immense speed throughout the ruined cathedral of a battlefield, searing the Paladin and the Necromancer and throwing off the incessant attacks.

Oread rushed in, her footing sure and agile, undeterred by the fire. Diablo sent a lightning strike towards her, but she leapt up and evaded it, cut the demon lord deeply in one foot and sliced off one of his toes. Diablo cursed at her in his demonic tongue, smacked her in the side with his tail and sent her tumbling off. He then planted his claws upon the ground, as large arched columns of ivory burst from the stone tiles, encaging Oread, who seemed dazed by the hit.

Diablo raised his arms, lightning crackling between his claws; yet instead of executing his target, he halted, shocked by the scene before his eyes – his bone cage had crumbled away. Furious, the demon lord grunted and turned to the Necromancer, who he knew to have nullified his magic; bone magic was, after all, the Necromantic race's expertise.

The demon lord tried to strike the Necromancer with his claws. Nyhl sidestepped, barely out of reach of the freezing hit; at the same time he drew his dagger and hacked at Diablo's wrist. The tough flesh opened up, and started to fester and blacken straightaway. Nyhl hit him again, this time with his long sword, cutting into the tendons of the same arm. Diablo fell back half a step, and Nyhl straightened up, closed his eyes momentarily. In my mind's eye, his energy reached out to the monster, and a malevolent link was forcefully established.

Halbu ran to my side just as Oread regained her senses to stand. He seemed about to say something to me, but then he took a look at the Necromancer, snarled, and readied his sword wordlessly.

My master joined her husband, and couple unleashed a barrage of assaults on the demon lord. Oread would take the offence with her spear, and Nyhl would be on the defence to parry the blows as best possible. Diablo roared, knocked Oread's spear from her hand, and clawed at her again with his good arm.

Oread wrinkled her nose, seeming to brace herself to receive the blow; instead, Nyhl stepped up and took it, two of Diablo's claws piercing his right shoulder. Halbu ran up then, and hacked off the fingers that were caught. I felt for the last arrow in the quiver, took a good aim and shot Diablo in one eye. Oread picked up her spear, and, with a great shout, slashed the monster across the chest, the lightning-charged weapon leaving the flesh burnt and smoking.

As the demon lord cried out, we fell back and finally regrouped, knowing that the battle was not yet over. Both Halbu and Oread were battered and burnt, the gash in my stomach was throbbing fiercely, and Nyhl still had Diablo's appendages stuck in his shoulder, but he grinned as he sheathed his dagger and took a grip around one of the claws.

"Look at him," He nodded at Diablo; I had just noticed that the monster, also, was bleeding from two puncture wounds in his shoulder. "Watch this." The Necromancer muttered, a smirk upon his lips.

"No, y—" Halbu began, but Nyhl, with sickening resolve, ripped the claw from his shoulder.

Diablo roared as blood sprayed from his shoulder. Nyhl snickered, then proceeded to tear out the other claw. The demon lord stumbled, his blood gushing freely.

"I thought you didn't like to curse." Oread accused her husband as he dropped the claw and quickly drained a vial of potion, which was less than sufficient; his arm was limp and he had dropped his long sword when Diablo stabbed him. He simply ignored his wife's accusation.

"You're a vile man, even for your race." Halbu began, his brows furrowed, his eyes averted from the Necromancer. "But you sure get things done."

"They're not done _yet_." Nyhl picked up the severed fingers as we scattered, avoiding another bolt of lightning that exploded from the ground. I unsheathed my short sword, and as we charged, Nyhl threw the appendages towards Diablo. They exploded in midair, and the demon lord was rained upon by his own blood.

The explosions were somehow encouraging; we were all drained, but the battle was almost over. Diablo's movements were sluggish; he had minimal uses of his arms, and his fire and lightning magics were far less powerful now. Our four blades cut into him; he tried to reach out with one arm, then the other, and growled in pain each time as he let them fall again. Frustrated, he whipped around quickly, the spikes on his back, tail, and his remaining claws slashing at us with his momentum.

He stopped, and set his remaining eye on the person who happened to be standing before him – me.

He swung his limp arm down at me, despite the blade that I had held out. I turned the sword to block, but the strength with which he had swung the arm – probably with sacrificing it in mind – took me by surprise. I felt my shoulder being wrenched from its socket, and fell onto my back. Halbu stabbed hard at Diablo, burying his blade up to the hilt into his side, ignoring the dangerous spikes from the monster's back cutting into his arms; but the demon lord's hand, still driven by raw momentum, crashed into my stomach. It burned sharply as the wound was torn open again.

"Almost there!" Oread cried desperately. "Just _die_!" Her spear flashed, and she hacked directly at Diablo's head. She missed, taking off one of his horns along with a large piece of scalp.

"Foul-blooded wench!" Diablo turned to her, his eye wild. He kicked her off – his leg was about the only limb still functioning, now – and focused his last store of mana. But as lightning crackled between the claws of his foot, Nyhl ran up between his wife and the demon lord, and at the moment the foot landed and the lightning burst forth, Nyhl conjured a wall of bone and absorbed the attack.

Diablo, in a state of delirium-driven mania, screamed in fury, and slammed his body directly into the bone wall in one last desperate attempt to kill. I caught a sort of bewildered shock in Nyhl's eyes, before the wall shattered under the force, but instead of a cry of triumph, there was a howl of pain and anguish from the demon lord.

Countless gashes had opened up in the monster's body. Blood was flowing, spurting, pooling on the ground. Within seconds he collapsed, bleeding out, the smell of his blood thick and revolting. A bluish-white, glowing form drifted from his body, and quickly extinguished.

My mind's eye saw that only now, the cursed connection between the monster and the Necromancer was broken.

Diablo died, essentially, at his own hands.

There was a lighter, clearer smell of blood. I felt my stomach, noting how wet and slick my armour was. The thick metallic scent was too strong; I turned my head aside, threw up, and fainted.

* * *

I regained consciousness but a moment later, snapped awake by a surge of energy that was induced by panic – my companions…

I tried to sit up; lacking the strength, I rolled onto my front. The motion pulled at my stomach wound terribly, and I cried out.

Then I realised I was not the only one disturbing the deathly silence. There was Oread's voice, too, broken and quavering.

I dragged myself over to the pile of bones, where Oread knelt, blood dripping from her head and her mouth. She was pushing the splintered bones off of her husband, cutting her hands on the sharp pieces. Uneven footsteps resounded; Halbu limped past me, and dropped to the ground opposite Oread.

I braced myself and crawled closer, taking in the form of the fallen Necromancer. No… he was not dead, I could hear his ragged breathing as he gasped for air.

Nyhl lay motionless; his left arm was a nothing more than a mangled mass of meat. The rest of his body was stabbed and impaled by countless pieces of shrapnel; a piece of bone was jammed into the side of his neck, and blood was gushing from a number of large wounds in his torso and legs. His left eye was pinned shut by a piece of glass through his eyelid – most likely from his own spectacles – but his right saw me, and it locked onto me for a moment as though assessing me. He was conscious, perhaps even lucid. Oh, gods...

Halbu removed the leather sash that held the potions from his waist, handing the only remaining vial to Oread. She took it with shaking hands, and poured the potion little by little into Nyhl's mouth, urging under her breath for him to swallow. Halbu slipped the sash around the remaining stump that was Nyhl's left arm, and strapped the tourniquet tight around the mutilated limb. Nyhl cried out weakly, choking on the last of the potion.

"Open a portal. We're getting him back to Jamella." The Paladin bent over and, despite straining the wounds on his own arms, lifted the broken Necromancer off the floor. Several pieces of bone fell off him then, clattering to the ground and marking it with droplets of thick blood. Nyhl uttered a faint groan, but did not move otherwise. "Oread, follow me. Celadon…" He nodded at me apologetically. "I'll drop him off and come back for you in a moment."

I felt awful in so many ways then. Halbu returned after what seemed like a long time – though it could have well been only a minute – and brought me through the portal.

Everyone was assembled just before the portal, where Nyhl has been laid down. The Paladin set me onto the floor, and with his help I sat up beside my master, who was kneeling next to the Necromancer. Jamella was on his other side, looking him over, her fingers hovering quickly over the wounds as she inspected each of them.

She exhaled heavily, and then lifted her eyes. "Halbu, get me my pack."

Halbu nodded and limped off. Jamella laid her hand upon Nyhl's forehead as she spoke softly, "I'm sorry about what I have to do, but we haven't got time."

Oread sniffled. I jerked towards Jamella, but my voice was caught as the movement pulled at my stomach again. I doubled over, wincing, but Jamella seemed to have understood what I wanted to say, anyway.

"If we put him out now," she turned to me, looking me in the eyes; her expression was anxious, yet firm. "We mightn't be able to get him back again."

I fell silent. Halbu returned with a small pack; Jamella withdrew a small vial of colourless potion and poured the contents over her hands. Bitter bile rose into my mouth as I watched the healer reach her fingers into the deepest gashes to plug the wounds, before digging the jagged pieces of shrapnel out with a slender blade. She tied off the blood vessels quickly, punching the broad stitches into place, leaving the wounds largely open – her priority was to slow the bleeding first, before staunching it completely. Her movements were crude, but swift and efficient… and that made it _that_ much harder to stomach.

Nyhl hissed and moaned, but did not budge too much – it was probably causing him more pain to move than it was to lie still and undergo the impromptu surgery. His right hand twitched, and Oread grabbed it with both her hands, heedless of the sharp pieces in his hand cutting into her own flesh. "Nyhl... _Necromancer_, you just hang tight, okay?" She grunted to her husband, the fear and despair in her voice painfully clear.

Nyhl relaxed a little at that. His functioning eye seemed absorbed by his wife's face as he gazed at her; his expression was one of absolute longing, and absolute regret. Oread bent over him, her forehead upon his, her pale hair falling over his face, soaking up his blood. Jamella worked fast, but not fast enough.

Tears welled up in my own eyes as the realisation I had been trying to deny came to me anyway. I crouched down, putting my functioning arm around Oread's shoulders.

Nyhl gagged weakly, blood bubbling in his throat, and I am unsure whether I had actually heard it, or if my mind's eye showed me how he felt at the time; but it was clear to me, what he said to his wife.

"Sorry."

When Jamella was still trying to cut a piece of shrapnel out of his lung, the Necromancer passed away.


	47. Chapter 37: Worlds Apart

I'M ALIVE! Oh my goodness, how long has it been? Years! I last updated more than two years ago!

A lot has happened in two years, but I'm still, still studying. I've graduated, but still studying. It's an excuse to feel like I'm still young, when I'm able to say, "I'm a student."

Thank you for all the reviewers and followers who've given me their feedback in my long absence. I can't express how guilty I am that this is only up now. I've made some slight adjustments to my writing style, but hopefully it's not jarring. Also, I've written this chapter in such a way that it would hopefully jog your memory as you read along, so you don't have to go back and read too much of my awful older chapters. It's a bit shorter, but I just really need to pick this up again.

In other exciting news, I'm happy to announce the new 'fic I've been writing with fellow _Diablo_ author, **Emmelyn Cindy Mah**! It's a _Diablo III _fanfic called _**Raindrop Pendants**_, and it's published here on ff-dot-net, under our joint-author account, "Em and Oph". It's the sequel to BOTH our 'fics, and contains spoilers for our present 'fics, though not too much, just yet. If you like our stories, go check out this one! We've tried to combine our strengths and deliver something truly special.

Anyway, without further ado... I present to you, this long-overdue chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: **The _Diablo_ franchise belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. None of this is done for profit, otherwise I wouldn't be trying to scrounge free food at uni every chance I get.

* * *

**Chapter 37**

**Worlds Apart**

* * *

We cremated him.

It's not as though there wasn't enough fire and red and smoke in that place already. I did not miss the irony of the burning of our fallen comrades in Hell.

Oread did not weep. She just watched as the smoke curled into the red sky above, watched as the flames licked at the body that once belonged to her newly-wedded spouse. The light of the fire was reflected in her gaze, and there were no tears to put out the flames in her eyes.

She held his dagger in her hand, and while her husband burned, she held it up – for a moment I was overtaken by panic, but she brought it to the back of her neck – and cut off her long braid with a swift movement.

She tossed it into the fire, and the silver-wheaten locks were charred almost instantly into ashes.

Tyrael was there. For days, he was silent, letting us drink in the series of events that got us here, and left others behind. Jamella and Halbu seemed to think it was a better idea to let myself and my master be for a while.

I was thankful for that.

Sure, the place made me lose track of time, but I felt – knew – that it was too soon. It wasn't possible to experience so many emotions in so short a time –

Losing a companion. Getting married to another. Losing _that _companion. Those are things that should never happen in quick succession.

Perhaps that was why Oread never wept for her lost love.

"What are you going to do from here?" I asked her after two days of silence. I still had my master… or rather, I still _wanted _a master. I still wanted to have a goal, somewhere to be, someone for whom I could work.

… Hell, I wanted my master to tell me what we should do. I was lost. I wanted to go somewhere. Somewhere else… somewhere other than this place – this place that had taken two of our companions.

We were in our shared tent – the one we shared before her wedding – and sitting across from one another, on the edges of our own beds. She was staring at her hands, her right toying with the steel band on her left hand's finger. Her hair, messy from the uneven cut and tangled from being uncombed for days, fell over her face and shadowed her eyes.

"My sister died here," She said finally, her voice small and cool. "And I'd killed the one who killed her, but in the process…" She ran her hand through her bangs, sweeping them out of her eyes. "He's not meant to die here."

"You—" I cleared my throat and swallowed; just that _she_ had not been crying, that did not mean I had not shed my fair share of tears over our loss. The back of my eyes started to tingle as I tried to keep my voice even. "You can't change what's happened. We couldn't help it. We tried our best and it wasn't enough. We…" I could not look at her anymore. "… We weren't enough."

"So why would you want to keep going when we can't even do enough where we are?"

"That's not the point and you know it." My voice cracked, and my hand flew over my mouth to cover up my sob, but my eyes overflowed. "We can't stay here. You'll fall to pieces if we stay in this place – hell, _I _feel like I'm falling to pieces. If we stay here we'll just end up wallowing in what happened, and what could have been, and —"

"You want to leave?"

"I want to. You… _need_ to."

"We're going to Harrogath."

"We — what?"

She tossed me something, and it landed on the bed beside me. Some sort of cast-bronze medallion, its relief tracing out a skull surrounded by some entangling form. I did not make out too many details – looking at the thing was disconcerting.

"Harrogath. That's where he was headed," Oread explained, drawing her knees to her chest and hugged them close. "That thing over there gave him the right and responsibility to execute one of his kinsmen. If it weren't for that someone, he wouldn't be out here in the first place."

"You're… finishing his job for him?"

"Would you rather go home?"

… Would I? Home was where my master was. Where my companions were. I'd found home with her, and family with Falcon, and Leaf, and Nyhl… even Master Cain, and Natalya. Everyone we'd met on the way, they made me feel at home with the way I was living.

I had left my home with the Sisterhood to find a new one with this woman, and I felt that… even if I were to return to my sisters now, it would no longer be home.

I've changed too much.

"I'd rather stay with you."

"Then you shouldn't have to ask anymore."

I fell quiet then. We hadn't talked like that in… a long time, and I had forgotten how close I grew to her. She was the only one who was with me all the way since this journey began. Everyone else came and went.

… And then there's Jerhyn.

"Well… just so you know." I forced a smile onto my face, but it stayed there more easily than I had expected. "I'd rather you're taken care of." She did not respond, and I felt a little desperation in continuing some form of conversation. "I can fix your hair if you want."

"You can if _you _want."

"Well… I do want to."

"Then go ahead."

I felt something tug at my chest again, and chuckled. The sound came out pathetically sad. "When did we become so awkward?"

"It's not your fault. I don't feel much like talking."

"…I'll go find some scissors."

Oread ended up taking a bath before I could manage to untangle her hair. Her hair was much too fine and it was a pain to handle, but it was slightly less of a pain when it was wet.

"If you don't mind me asking this… if it's not… well, sensitive or some such," I tested as I combed out her hair, "why did you cut it?"

"Tradition," She answered, wincing quietly as I tugged on a stubborn knot. "In my tribe, girls and women keep their hair long. Widows, however…"

"Right." I cut her off curtly. "It's a right mess now, you know… 'cause of the way you did it."

"Sorry."

"No, no… I offered to fix it for you, after all." _You offer what you can't give, Celadon._ "Well, I'll try."

"It'll grow back."

"I'll still try my best to make it look proper!" The determination in my voice surprised me; perhaps I needed that little victory after all the losses. "It'll make you feel better, too."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so." _Or do you?_ "Now stop moving about."

"Thank you, Celadon."

"…You're welcome." I started to even out the length of her hair; it was going to fall no further than the nape of her neck by the time I would be finished. "If you're going to have short hair from now on, you may as well make it look good."

"You'll have to see to that, then. I can't cut my own hair properly."

I thought I heard a smile in that, however faint it might be. "That… will be fine. I'll take care of it. You just take care of yourself, please."

"I will."

"Good."

* * *

I heard her crying that night.

I woke up in the middle of the night and heard her sobbing. She sounded so openly distressed, that I realised she was crying in her dreams. Her nightmares.

I sidled over and called out softly to her. She stirred, but didn't wake. I thought of giving it another try, but then something compelled me to act otherwise. Without quite knowing what I was doing, I lifted her blankets a little, slid in to lie down beside her, and eased her into my arms.

She had aged – felt thinner, frailer. I reminded myself that she was twenty-two years old, and I was eighteen, myself. At the back of my head, I wondered when my birthday had come and gone.

I supposed that in times of peace, in places without corruption – in another world where Sanctuary lived up to its name, we'd be faring well to adolescence, probably living with young, healthy, fit husbands who could take care of us, perhaps experiencing the joys and excitement of parenthood. In a better world, I could be married to a man I loved, living in a big household with all my sisters – maybe all my brothers, too, if there never existed a need for my parents to part ways. Even if I were not married, I would be travelling, seeing the beauty and wonder of the world, a world untainted.

But here we were, instead. I had left the man I loved to wash my hands with blood, to cloud my eyes with smoke, to weigh my heart with guilt. Here I was, holding a young woman not much older than myself, lest she would fall apart – a young woman, at the prime of her years, the most beautiful and desirable time of her life, who had already loved and lost.

What hope was there for me? We're in Hell, after all.

* * *

"Take us there, Tyrael." Oread finally requested two days later. "Take us away."

That probably had to do with the fact that Jamella and Halbu had been actively trying to put an end to their duties in this place, too. While Oread and I had been recuperating – from the shock of the experience more than anything else we'd sustained corporeally – they had been arranging to seal up the connection to this place adequately. The preparations were apparently extensive, but neither I nor my master were inclined to ask about the details.

Oread and I were helping them pack and order all their things, amongst which were the shelves of ashes. She'd set two urns aside, and asked the question as she straightened from setting them aside carefully.

"Away to where?" The archangel responded without a pause in his work. Still contained within the body of a young boy, he was squatting down in the middle of the fortress' courtyard, carefully inscribing runes into the stone with his magic. Kande was clinging onto his back and watching over his shoulder with fascination. "Where's there? The war's still waging back in the mortal realm and it's nowhere near over. I have to go back as soon as this is done, and I'm not sure if it's appropriate for you to be hitching a ride from me, if you want to go home."

I reminded myself that he could read our minds, anyway. Then again, perhaps his powers were diminished, with his recent mishap?

"You're going north, aren't you? To fix up that issue with Diablo's brother." Oread's voice was stern, but flat. "We'll come along."

"I've already asked too much of you, have I not?" Tyrael completed another rune, and a section of the inscriptions winked momentarily with a bluish glow. Kande let out a squeal of fascination from over his shoulder. "No-one should be forced to go there. The Barbarian tribes, at the least, are eager, and they have some people coming to their aid from the nearby strongholds in the north." He straightened up, holding his hands out behind him as Kande slid off his back, so as to catch her and lower her to the floor. The infant let out an unhappy whine, and held out her little arms, asking to be picked up again. With a resigned sigh, Tyrael lifted her and held her to his front. "You should be headed in the opposite direction. Go home to Philios, Oread. You've earned it."

This was unexpected, after all the vigorous righteousness he's exhibited thus far, and the defiance he'd inspired – or _tried_ to inspire – within us.

"My husband had business in Harrogath." Oread reached into her pocket, feeling the medallion that I knew to be in there. She was wearing one of Nyhl's shirts, tied at the waist with a sash of her own, with the sleeves folded back, despite my protest against it. I made a mental note to dissuade her from bringing those along with her, when we leave. "I wouldn't have really laid him to rest until I finish it for him."

Tyrael stared at her for a long time, until Kande, looking somewhat confused, nudged him insistently. He dipped his head, apparently acquiescing to her resolve. "Alright." He even managed a little solemn smile, which, on the face of a child, looked merely shy at first glance. "Thank you."

"It's not like I'm doing it for you – or Harrogath, or for the sake of anyone." Oread shrugged and turned away, lowering herself as she began wrapping up the urns in layers of fabric.

Kande wriggled out of Tyrael's hold – perhaps no longer interested now that he had stopped inscribing the runes – and ran over to me. "Auntie Cel is going away?" She asked quietly, her delicate brows furrowed.

I smiled and ruffled her hair, watching her ringlets bounce. "We'll come visit once we're not so busy anymore."

The image crept into my head : a city, roofs glimmering in the desert sun, richly-dyed textiles fluttering in the hot wind. The jewel of Aranoch – Lut Gholein. Jamella and Halbu. Jerhyn and I. Kande, a little older now, and another child – a baby in my arms.

If this world was to find peace, we would be family. But there was no use longing for the warmth that I wouldn't feel at least for a while, no point wishing for the light that I perhaps would never see again.

Oread and I left Hell three days later, and arrived back into our own realm, greeted by biting wind, bitter cold, and a land of immense, endless grey.

Oread gazed up at the thick, dark clouds, and smiled when she caught sight of a small patch of blue sky. For the first time in weeks, her eyes lit up, and she let out a misty breath that was almost a laugh.

"Hello, Harrogath."


End file.
